Truth, Love, and Evolution
by aspiringtoeloquence
Summary: A love story, told in moments...   Romance, Humor, Friendship, Fluff, Angst, and everything else.
1. Light

_A/N - Intro: This is different from the other things I've posted. I mean stylistically, as well as thematically. I hope you all like it anyway, because I'm kind of excited about it. It's going to be a series of one (?) shots representing moments in Kurt and Blaine's relationship. This first one is a little angsty, but it will have moments to (hopefully) make you smile as well. That's the goal, at least. I don't know whether it'll be chronological yet, or how long it will be, but I have several chapters on the go right now. I've put it as Romance/General because the box won't let me list more, but I hope it's going to be Romance/Friendship/Humor/Comfort/Anythingelseicanthinkof. It's also listed as T for now, but that may change. I'll warn you before that happens, though, in case M isn't your style._

_This is inspired/influenced by several mind-bogglingly brilliant/touching fics on here, which you can find under my favorites. One is coincident's "On Centrifugal Living" which I am entirely unworthy of even mentioning, it is so touching and well written. Another is Keitorin Asthore's Family Ties, which is now my default fic for all things joy-inspiring/touching in the world. There are definitely more brilliant fics on here, but those are the two that have wowed me the most (and sent me into a fangirl tailspin trying desperately to write to that level.)_

_Originally I wanted the format to be one long fic broken up with markers. It may be impossible, but know that if you get frequent re-upload alerts for this is likely means I've tacked on another section. I hate to do that to you all, but I think it may serve the story better. As ever, let me know what you think.  
_

_*ends long-winded self-indulgent authors note*_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, the canon characters, Fox, or Ryan Murphy. But I reckon I should get them for Christmas because I've been really good this year. Except for that one incident with the... oh, never mind._

_Edit: You should also know that this first chapter is uncharacteristically angsty for me. This is a mixture, and I'm a humor/fluffist at heart, although, like in all relationships, there will be moments of conflict. C'est la vie.  
_

* * *

_Courage, not pain _Kurt thought, lying on the cold linoleum of the McKinley hallway. _I'm not at school. I'm with Blaine at Breadstix._ He felt a sharp pain to the right side of his ribcage. _No. Too many people there. Not there. We're alone. We're in his car. He's driving me home after dinner. _He winced slightly as something landed on his shoulder. Hard. It took more effort to maintain his train of thought, but he wouldn't give it up. Not now. Not Blaine. Courage. _The heater is on, and we're singing along to the radio. It's_ – he paused for thought, almost not feeling the series of blows trailing from his chest to his feet – _Train_, he finally decided._Hey, Soul Sister_. The crash of a jaw being hit. _Blaine's voice would sound perfect singing that lead._ He'd secretly dreamed of it several times in the weeks since that first encounter. The first time he'd heard him sing. Kurt smiled at the memory of Blaine's eyes on his as he sang... '_Let you put your hands on me in my skintight jeans'... his eyes on me, like the smell of a warm hazelnut latte on a cold night. Cold. Cold floor. _A sickening spasm in his leg brought him back to the place he was. No, wanted to be. It didn't matter which, as long as he held on._ Train. Train would be best._ _Not that he couldn't make anything sound good, but that vocal would be –_ a sharp kick to his head left him reeling, struggling to get back to that voice. The cadence. The perfect pitch. The sound of his slight smile. Sincerity. '_The smell of you in every single dream I dream_.' He grasped onto the notes, the rich sound of that voice, the smell of Blaine's cologne (so familiar to him, even after only those few meetings) and saw himself in the passenger seat, listening. '_I believe in you, like a virgin, you're madonna, and I'm always gonna want to blow your mind._ _Hey, soul sister, hey there Mister Mister on that radio, stereo, the way you move ain't fair, you know_'...Those hazel eyes turned on him as Blaine sang those words, and Kurt felt himself melt into them, as a final vicious kick started to rob him of his ability to think, and all that he saw was the warm smile in those wonderful, heavenly eyes, like honey, and chocolate, and the promise of a beautiful tomorrow- _I don't want to miss a single thing you do -_ as the blackness descended upon him... _tonight_.

* * *

The harsh light began to burn through Kurt's eyelids, forcing him to the surface of an ocean he wasn't sure he wanted to leave just yet. There was pain up there, he knew, and here was a nice enveloping blanket of comfort, and music, and every kind of softness the brain could imagine. Like that new Marc Jacobs coat. He fought the rising light and sharpness, but his body knew better, as though it was seeking air after a long time submerged. He tried to get back to the voice that had kept him anchored to his courage, but found it was drowned out by a humming coming from the surface, just like the light. Kurt found this upsetting at first, but realized when he paused to listen that the voice wasn't intrusive or upsetting at all. It was familiar and spellbinding and the only reason he stopped fighting the light. He needed to _see_ that voice. More than he needed comfort, or warmth, or even air. Breaking the surface to the blinding glow of florescent lights, he blinked away a little of the confusion and brightnes, wincing when the pain hit him full force.

This small movement was not lost on the only other inhabitant of the room. The humming stopped abruptly and there was the rustle of a book being thoughtlessly tossed aside. Then those hazel eyes were fixed on him with such concern and relief that Kurt knew, without question, that he must be dead.

"Well, dammit," he muttered resignedly leaning back to process this new information. " I always thought that if heaven did actually exist then it would have more accessories." He paused, and took in Blaine's wrinkled uniform "And perhaps less clothing."

Blaine's eyebrows (which Kurt had always secretly liked, even if they weren't as well groomed as his own) shot up at Kurt's proclamation. Or rather, Kurt corrected mentally, _imaginary_-Blaine's eyebrows shot up. He had to assume that Blaine wasn't also dead, but it was nice that his mind (or whatever it was) had conjured him up anyway. "I wonder if I get to keep you..." he asked the figment of his imagination, who looked over his shoulder in surprise, and seeing that there was no one there, let a slow smile spread over his face. Kurt had, truth be told, questioned whether Blaine was real before his … death (he supposed he'd better get used to the word). His new friend had always seemed just a little too perfect.

He laughed suddenly as he realized that Mercedes must have been right about the whole religion/ afterlife after all... and then found that he wasn't the least bit sorry. He'd take it.

"Kurt, can you hear me?" His imaginary Blaine leaned closer with concern.

"You stopped singing." Kurt accused. Pseudo-Blaine smiled in relief.

"You mean the humming? I'm sorry. Can I get you anything?" He didn't pause. "I should call your dad, he's talking to the doctors right now. They'll want to check you over. And there are quite a few people waiting downstairs, too."

At the word doctor Kurt finally dragged his eyes away from the other boy's face and noted his surroundings. Odd. You'd think heaven would manifest itself as somewhere better than a hospital room.

As Blaine moved towards the door to fetch the doctor, looking undeniably relieved (if a little confused), Kurt's mind explored the rapidly increasing likelihood that he was, in fact, alive. He was surprised to realize he had mixed feelings towards this. On the one hand he wasn't dead... which was quite pleasing. And his atheism was not under attack by his circumstances, which was nice. On the other hand, he was kind of confused. And confused was not a state he wanted to be in anywhere near possibly-real Blaine. He needed his wits about him with his friend around. His friend. Who cared about him. A lot. Potentially-alive Kurt smiled at the thought.

Quite-likely-real-but-the-jury-was-still-out Blaine returned to his side, having given the nurse a message to take to Burt and to the waiting room filled with the entire New Directions club... and a fair few of their family members too. There would be a lot of hugging downstairs... and even more upstairs when the group was allowed to visit. He leaned towards Kurt with a smile. His voice was not as smooth or assured as Kurt remembered when he said "I'm glad you're back."

So was Kurt. "Me too. Thanks for helping me."

"Helping?" He scoffed slightly. "I didn't _do_ anything... I've just been sitting here, waiting for you to wake up." Blaine's gentle voice was laced with frustration, as though he was ashamed to be receiving praise. Kurt frowned at that, and decided he needed to clarify. Almost-certainly-real Blaine needed to understand.

"No, not that." Blaine's eyes fell, and Kurt chose his words carefully, still trying to struggle through the mist of drugs making it difficult for him to express himself fully. "I mean, I'm glad you're here. But I meant... earlier. While it was happening." Now Blaine looked confused. "While I was being beaten. You were with me."

The sharp look that crossed his friend's face was almost vicious in it's denial. When he spoke after a moment, his voice was still gentle, but his eyes were filled with violence and... yes... Kurt could see it... shame. "I wasn't there, Kurt. When they...did this to you. I wasn't there. I've dreamed of being there. Of stopping them from...but I wasn't. I didn't – They -". His dark thoughts seemed to rob him of the words to continue, and Kurt grew more determined to make him understand. He looked around the room, as though he might find the answers if he glanced at the right spot in the right way.

"No, you _were_. You were _there_, keeping me afloat. We were together, and I knew that they... it didn't matter. What they did... it... you were singing... train... and it was alright. Everything you told me... it was true because... I could hear you. You were there. And we were in your car... the radio... but you were singing...And your voice was like... it was an anchor, and I was... so much dark... drowning... but I knew that I could...had to... it was important. To hold on. Because of you...my dad... and your voice was the way back." He looked to Blaine's face to see if his muddled truth was being understood, and was surprised to see full hazel eyes looking back at him, tears streaming freely down tired, beautiful cheeks.

"Do you understand?" Kurt asked, concerned at the sight. He really missed the ability to form a coherent sentence. He now knew how Finn felt some of the time.

Blaine closed his eyes for a moment and then bowed his head. Kurt missed his eye contact more than he thought he had missed anything ever in his life. Silence filled the room and Kurt suddenly wished with all he had that this _was_ real, and he wasn't dead, and he still had time to understand what that silence meant. And when he wished that, in that instant he knew that it was. He grinned the way that people do when they have another chance. And then he saw that Blaine's gaze was still on the floor and he whispered his friend's name.

Blaine's eyes shot up at the whisper of his name on the boy's lips and he opened his own mouth, but it took a second for words to come out. Kurt could now appreciate that, and so waited patiently. Blaine pursed his lips and then finally spoke, albeit shakily. "Let me make sure I understand." He paused. "You're saying that while those... while they were _beating _you..." Kurt could see that it cost his friend dearly to say the word aloud. "That the thing you imagined-" Blaine saw Kurt take the word imagined in a negative way and rushed to correct himself "the thing you _held on to_ was... me?" He ended the sentence with a small smile filled with such sadness, confusion and hope, that Kurt nodded quickly before clarifying again.

"Well, your voice. But... yeah."

Blaine processed this for a moment, and then smiled at the precision of the correction and threw himself into the chair next to Kurt's bed. He still looked troubled, but there was a relaxed quality to him that Kurt had missed.

"Huh. Interesting. Well, I suppose that leads to another question."

Kurt was beginning to feel a bit tired, so his mind was less than engaged when he responded. "Hmmwhassat?"

"What was I singing?"

His eyes blinked open to meet Blaine's as he let his eyebrows furrow. "I said...mmm... told you 'ready. Train."

"Ah. What song?"

"Tired now. Can I sleep?"

Blaine's face softened and he touched Kurt's arm briefly in a gesture filled with meaning that Kurt was far too tired to work out.

"Yeah, the nurse said it's okay. But I'm gonna have to wake you up when the doctor and your dad are done talking over your test results. He's going to be pretty annoyed I didn't drag him straight up here when you first woke up."

"S'Ok. You saved me. He'll get over it." Kurt snuggled down under the blankets, taking care to move as little as possible. His entire body seemed a little numb. Odd, that. But he could still feel Blaine's hand on his arm, so that was alright.

Blaine chuckled at sleepy Kurt's view of the situation. "Yeah, maybe..."

Kurt opened his eyes fully again, a thought just occurring to him. "You'll be here, right?"

"Yeah, Kurt. I said I'd wake you, didn't I?"

"Promise?"

"I promise." Kurt, satisfied, made himself comfortable again and closed his eyes. This time he wasn't treading water, but being carried in fluffy... something fluffy. Maybe Dolce made a coat like this feeling... did Dolce make coats? He thought they should, if they didn't already. Just like this...

"Hey, Kurt?"

"Mmmm?" He didn't open his eyes. Too sleepy.

"Which Train song was I singing?"

"Mmmfff... the good one... obviously...Soul sister. Hey... soul sistumm..."

He heard Blaine's tiny musical laugh as he began to float in to a much desired slumber, and then he heard that wonderful voice pick up a tune. It was humming again, which was nice, but he didn't smile fully to himself until he recognized a few tunefully whispered words. But they weren't the same as last time, because this time they were better. They were real. And safe. _Watching you's the only drug I need_... _don't want to miss a single thing you do_...Kurt let himself relax in the knowledge that the voice was there, and was not going any time soon...and as the bright light became fuzzy and embraced him..._tonight._


	2. News

_A/N: This was originally an idea I had for a one-shot, but I kind of like it here. Let me know what you think!_

_Also, is anyone else obsessed with the Sectionals Warbler performance on youtube, or is it just me? *goes to play it again*_

_Oh, and this goes out to GleekFreak12345, who left me the nicest triumvirate of comments (one on each of my stories) that I have ever gotten. Hope you like! It's short. I warn you.  
_

_Disclaimer: I don't own them. _

* * *

Blaine made a very valiant effort to look reasonable and composed when he got (and finally understood) the news...and not to let it show on his face that all his Christmases seemed to have come at once. Wes and David were having none of it. But they, Blaine reminded himself, were idiots.

He was still concerned for Kurt, of course. But it was difficult to deny the large percentage of Blaine's brain which was mentally leaping around, singing and flailing delightedly to show tunes in a manner not entirely acceptable for a person of Blaine's age and maturity. The news that Kurt was transferring to Dalton had immediately lessened the burden of worry Blaine carried, spreading a smile of relief over his features that he sternly toned down to acceptable levels. He didn't want to come off as desperate, after all.

And Wes and David's later suggestion that living in the same dorm with Kurt would make it possible for Blaine to tell _Kurt_ how wonderful he was twice a minute (rather than sharing with the two of them) was completely ridiculous. And inappropriate. He had informed them of this (while apologizing to a confused looking Kurt) in no uncertain terms. What did they know, anyway? Stupid friends. With their stupid ability to remember the most offhand comment he had made months ago about the color of Kurt's eyes matching almost precisely the –_ not the point_. He was just excited that Kurt would be easier to hang out with, and possibly (please, god) a member of the Warblers. Who Blaine could then sing to – _with_. He meant with.

When Kurt had burst into his dorm room at 6pm on Thursday night, looking slightly manic, Blaine had immediately feared the worst. Something had happened._Kurt's father's ill again, or Finn tried to stand up for him and that closeted bully _– his mind raced at all the possibilities, thankful that Kurt at least appeared unhurt. He had shoved his guitar aside automatically when the door flew opened, and was most of the way across the (admittedly small) room before Kurt got his breath back. "What's wrong?" he asked, urgency lacing his tone. "Are you okay? Did something happen? Do you need us to go talk to -"

"- I'm coming here. To Dalton."

There was a moment of silence as Blaine began to process the meaning of that phrase. He had been told in the past that he had an exceptionally high IQ, but his brain didn't seem quite able to divine the meaning of any of those words right then. Wes and David, having been reassured that danger was not imminent, had settled back onto Wes' bed and were taking great delight in their friend's stupefaction. Not helpful. Blaine chose his words very carefully, in case he had completely misunderstood.

"You're...enrolling...at Dalton?"

"Yes." Kurt smiled slightly, but there was a glint of sadness. Blaine made a mental note to get back to that later. He knew that Kurt would need to talk about whatever incident had prompted his transfer, but as he appeared whole and safe for now, Blaine had another priority. He still needed to make sure he was hearing correctly.

"As a student?" He felt the need to clarify.

Kurt looked at him as though he might be a little dense. Blaine really couldn't argue with that judgment right then.

"Yes, Blaine. As a student. Here. At Dalton. Starting on Monday." Wes and David were grinning delightedly, and looked as though they would have dearly loved a bowl of popcorn. Stupid friends.

"Monday..." Blaine repeated, part of his brain begging him to choose words that were less idiotic. He could converse semi-fluently in three and half languages, for crying out loud (his French was pretty horrific, admittedly). Why could he not form a coherent sentence? He was helping Kurt come to terms with what was happening. That required words.

Thankfully, Wes jumped in, saving him from total and complete mortification. Blaine let out a relieved breath when his roommate launched himself off of the bed and bounded over to slap Kurt on the back with enthusiasm. "Cool! Welcome to Dalton!" Wes' grin widened mischievously, and Blaine made another mental note to torture Wes for whatever havoc he was about to wreak. That was not a smile that had ever resulted in anything pleasant. "You are going to _love _it here!" He pulled Kurt into the room (something that Blaine belatedly realized he should have done already) and pushed him over to sit on Blaine's bed, where the abandoned guitar lay. Wes then flopped back onto his own bed and continued. "The classes are great – Blaine can tell you about them, and the Warblers will be a totally different group with your voice – we'll have to get you an official audition, but David and I are on the committee, so you're totally in...are you going to board here?" Kurt nodded, but Wes hadn't paused for a response. Or a breath. "Well, that's great! You can room with Blaine and -"

David's confused voice interrupted Wes' impressive tirade of information. "But dude, _you_ live here and-"

Blaine was fairly certain that Kurt didn't see the subtle (but clearly painful) kick that Wes aimed at David's shin. No one else missed it though - especially David, who hissed at the sudden pain and turned slightly pale.

Wes' grin, meanwhile, which had faded slightly at the interruption, was back in full force. Blaine knew that he should stop whatever madness this was, but he was honestly curious about what Wes was doing. Pure evil in action could be very interesting. Wes turned back to Kurt with an emphatic sigh and conspiratorial tone. "David's embarrassed, you see. His roommate left at the end of last term, and he's just been getting so lonely in that room by himself. He asked me to switch rooms yesterday, but I didn't want to leave Blaine by himself." He turned slightly threateningly to David. "_Isn't that right_?"

David looked mutinous for a moment, glanced over at Kurt's face, then to shell-shocked Blaine, and nodded. "Lonely... yeah. No one to play Mario with. You should totally move in here!"

Kurt finally looked over at Blaine for confirmation and Blaine was ready to open his mouth and inform Kurt that his friends had clearly forgotten to take their medication that morning, but something stopped him. Maybe it was Wes' enthusiasm rubbing of on him, or the stare that his two "friends" were fixing him with from across the room (which could burn through metal, Blaine decided). Maybe he was just really sick of Wes' unwashed socks all over the floor. Or maybe it was the undeniable fact that living with his new friend might be _kind of fun_.

Blaine shrugged in what he fervently hoped was a nonchalant manner. He then thanked whatever powers existed that he had regained his vocabulary and could remember the correct usage of the word nonchalant.

"S'Ok with me," he smiled genuinely, picking up his guitar and collapsing next to his new roommate on the bed. He looked over at him and raised an eyebrow questioningly "you good with it, Kurt?"

* * *

_A/N 2.0: I love Blaine when he's eloquent as well. I just don't think that he can be that way all the time, ya dig? (I will never say 'ya dig' again. Promise. Let us never speak of this again.)_


	3. Lyrics

_A/N: I have a bunch of chapters in the works for this (including one complete one for a little ways down the line that is my favorite thing I've written for this so far). So more with happen. But I give you this, because you are awesome._

_Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. I just like to play._

* * *

"Is not."

"Is."

"Is not."

"Is."

Kurt gave up pretending to be attempting sleep and sat upright in his bed. It really was only a testament to how close they were that he hadn't reached over and strangled him yet. He turned to face the bed across from him, where he could just about make out the outline of a person in the dark. "You cannot seriously think that those are the lyrics," he challenged.

"Yes I can, because they are."

"Are not."

"Are too."

"Are not."

"Are you seriously suggesting," Blaine asked, unknowingly mimicking Kurt's earlier movement, "that Train is unimaginative enough to write the lyrics '_Hey soul sister, hey there Mister Mister'_?"

"Clearly."

"It's '_ain't that Mister mister_.' _Ain't that_. "

"Isn't."

"Is."

"Isn't."

"Well," Kurt sighed, much less annoyed than he wished to appear, "that's how I remember it."

"From sectionals? I can assure you I did not sing it that way. Neither did you. We can look up the video."

"No," Kurt said slowly, "not from sectionals."

"Then where?" Blaine's voice asked peevishly. "You know Kurt, hearing song lyrics come out of the radio that aren't really being sung might be a symptom of – ." Kurt could practically hear Blaine's begin to catch on to his train of thought. Silence.

Blaine was quiet for a few long moments, and Kurt eventually decided he must have fallen asleep. Then:

"I pitched performing that song, you know. Right before you transferred."

" Really? I didn't know that." Kurt's feigned disinterest was fooling no one.

"Yeah. It seemed..." Blaine trailed off, as though there wasn't a word adequate to describe the feeling.

"It's an important song." Kurt supplied honestly. "I mean... it's important to me."

"I know. I remember." It was said gently, but Kurt knew that Blaine was hearing the beep of hospital machines in his memory as clearly as Kurt was himself. He was brought back to the present by a chuckle. "I guess imaginary-figment-me doesn't know his lyrics either. What a disappointment that heaven would have been. Bad lyrics and" - he paused, evidently grinning from ear to ear - "if I remember correctly, "_far too many clothes"_."

Kurt was absurdly grateful that the darkness masked his face, because his cheeks had gone a rather intense shade of pink at Blaine's reminder. He didn't remember a huge amount about that time in hospital - it was mostly images, music, and snippets of Blaine that had stayed with him - but that first conversation was almost fully intact. He knew he'd said pretty much exactly that in his drugged-up state... and probably worse later, that he didn't know about. Time for a new subject, Kurt decided, and then settled for an old one.

" Be that as it may, that does not change the fact that real live Blaine does not know the lyrics either."

Kurt heard a head flop onto a pillow in agitation, but the voice that came from it was smiling.

"Do too. And as much as I would dearly love to continue arguing this all night, it's 3am and you have a history test in five hours. And I have to survive a double period of French. So we should probably get some rest... we wouldn't want to negatively influence your punishing morning hair-care ritual."

Kurt held his tongue. And then simply muttered " 'night, Blaine."

" 'night."

Silence.

" Oh, and Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"My idea of heaven has a pretty... _relaxed_ dress code too."

… and there went any chance of Kurt getting any sleep that night.

… Or any other night for the foreseeable future.


	4. French

_A/N Look! It's a wild drabble! *catches and gives it to you*_

_You guys. I have written SO MUCH stuff for later in this. I am so excited._

* * *

"This is ridiculous." Blaine threw his pencil across the room in agitation. "French is a stupid language. There are far too many tenses."

Kurt picked up the pencil and handed it back to him, answering reasonably. "You speak English, Spanish and Italian. They all have just as many tenses."

"Yeah, well... French ones are harder and more random."

Kurt smiled at this and pointed to the textbook open on Blaine's bed, where they were both sitting. "Try it again. The conditional endings of -"

"Well aren't you two just positively... studious." Wes leaned languidly against the doorjamb. He then added thoughtfully, elbowing David, who was next to him, "You know, Blaine was never this concerned with his french grade when we offered to help him, was he?"

"I seem to recall him saying that he'd rather … what was it?"

"I think it was 'swim in a shark infested river wearing Lady Gaga's favorite dress.'"

Blaine was rapidly turning the exact shade of the red in his Dalton tie. "Go away."

"Is that any way to talk to your friends?"

Blaine told his friends to go do something that would have gotten his mouth cleaned out with soap in a less enlightened age.

Wes was undeterred. He turned to David with a flourish. "Ah, le singe est un peu embarrassé. C'est très mignon."

"Oui, mais sa morsure est vicieuse." David added sadly.

Blaine looked at Kurt.

"They called you a monkey," Kurt supplied helpfully. "A cute, vicious, biting monkey."

Blaine glared at them. He pointed at David. "Next time you're pulling your hair out because you have an essay on Othello due in six hours, don't expect me to do anything but start quoting sonnets at you. The _unhelpful_ sonnets."

David adopted a girlish grin and clapped his hands manically. He shrieked. "Oh, please do, Blaine, your voice is so dreamy!"

"It practically makes me pass out every time I hear you sing." Wes collapsed onto Kurt's bed in an exaggerated faint.

Blaine rolled his eyes, confused, not noticing that Kurt had gone a delicate shade of pink. "I have no idea what you idiots are up to, but don't you have somewhere else to be? Girlfriends to torture?"

"We'd much rather spend the evening with you." David gave Blaine puppy dog eyes and joined Wes on the bed. "After all, you do have eyes like hot chocolate on a cold day."

"And you have a smile that could melt butter. Or marble. Or something hard, anyway."

"And the way you walk, it's just so mesmerizing, especially when you -"

"Get. Out." Blaine looked back in surprise. Kurt's tone was menacing, and his eyes were narrowed.

"You don't mean that. Are you sure that you didn't mean to ask Blaine if he had ever considered being a model, because he's so -"

"Get out of here right now, or I swear by Gaga's genius I will END you." David and Wes, who were giggling, stood up and turned to leave.

"Fine." David grinned. "Let's bounce, Wes." He threw something at Kurt. "By the way, here's your phone. You left it in french."

They departed, and Blaine looked at Kurt curiously. "Do you know what they were talking about? I mean, I always suspected the girlfriends were a front, but... eyes like hot chocolate?"

Kurt's laugh was strained. "I don't know. So – the conditional tense, it occurs when -"

"Can't we do something fun?" Blaine was pouting. "Can I play that game on your phone? The one with the bubbles." He reached for it across the bed, but his hand was slapped away.

"No!" Kurt's eyes were big. "I mean... you have a test tomorrow. You can play it later."

Blaine sighed, and leaned back. "I don't get it. Give me an example."

Kurt looked him in the eye. "Si je pouvais te dire ce que je ressent, je te dirais que je voudrais essayer de te rendre heureux éternellement."

Blaine had no earthly idea what he was saying, but if French made Kurt look at him like that, then it couldn't all be bad. "What does that mean?" he asked, flipping to the dictionary section of the textbook.

Kurt grabbed it from him. "Nothing – we should really work on your vocab."

"But I don't understand the tenses yet."

"We'll come back to them. We have all night."

Blaine lay back, pleased to realize that this was true. "Alright," he conceded. "Bring it, mon petit chou."

"I somehow doubt that the ability to call someone your little cabbage will be on your test tomorrow."

Blaine smiled. "Maybe not, but it has its uses."

They chuckled, neither quite sure what exactly that meant, and Blaine tried very hard not to read anything into the fact that Kurt blushed.


	5. Sugar

_I intended to wait a few days before posting, but I got all excited last night after reading Phantom_of_a_Rose's One Shot "First Slushie", and wrote this immediately. Hope you don't mind..._

_Also: To those asking for translations for the french in the last chapter, allow me to introduce you to a marvelous invention: Google. :) No, but really. I didn't translate that section on purpose.  
_

_A/N: If I owned Glee, Brittany and Mike would have choreography like 'Valerie''s every week. And there would be a Spice Girls themed episode, because that would be hilarious._

* * *

Blaine had gotten slushied once.

He hadn't told Kurt about it, because he knew it would upset him, but he was always secretly kind of glad it had happened. He finally understood exactly the brand of homophobia that Kurt had been suffering. And even after Kurt was attacked, and a few long, scared weeks later transferred to Dalton, Blaine had always felt that somehow having that shared experience made them closer. Then he always thought how stupid thinking that way was.

It had happened when he came to visit Kurt, one of the first times he'd been to McKinley. He and Kurt had had lunch, he'd taken him back to school, and he was walking back to his car when a football player (he didn't know who, but it wasn't Karofsky) had called him a 'prep school homo', asked him if they did anything in the dorms except screw each other, and thrown the ice cold drink in his face.

It was cherry flavored.

Blaine hated cherry.

And now he _really_ hated cherry.

He'd briefly considered responding to the idiot's comments, but decided it might be best to back off. He raised an eyebrow and walked back to his car. Now, knowing that that guy was, in all likelihood, one of the thugs that had attacked Kurt, Blaine kind of wished he'd gotten in at least a punch. Preferably several. It would have been worth it.

But back then he'd gone to leave, turned, and seen Mercedes and Finn, watching, clearly on their way to class.

He knew that while Mercedes liked that Kurt finally had a gay friend around his age who he could talk to, she wasn't exactly nuts about the amount of time they were spending together. And he could appreciate that. So he smiled and waved, but definitely did not expect her to walk over and take him by the hand, telling him that they'd better wash that off his white shirt before it stained. Luckily, his blazer had been in his car.

Finn had walked away in the other direction, and Blaine tried very hard not to be disappointed. He liked Kurt's step-brother, even if he and Kurt had had issues in the past. But, he reminded himself, Finn didn't know him, really. No need to be upset.

Mercedes took him into the nearest girls bathroom, shooing away a group of freshman girls in front of the mirrors so that the room was empty. She gestured to him to take his shirt off. He started to unbutton it, looking at her curiously.

"You don't like me." It wasn't a question.

"I don't _know_ you." There was a pause. Then she continued.

"I like the way he is with you, though. The way he smiles when he talks about you. You make him happy."

Blaine opened his mouth to answer (he wasn't really sure how), but was interrupted when the door swung open and Finn rushed in, out of breath. He handed Blaine a large T-shirt.

"Sorry, I had to run to my locker," he explained. "You okay?"

Blaine was floored. And it was not easy to floor him (well, unless apparently you had blue eyes and a voice like an angel. But Blaine was working on that).

"Thanks, Finn... I – thank you." It seemed completely inadequate.

Finn grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "No problem, man. Anything for the guy my brother -"

Mercedes coughed and accidentally splashed Finn with the water she was using to rinse Blaine's shirt. "Finn, shouldn't you go to history and tell Ms. Aaronson why we're late?"

"Oh... yeah. Sure." Finn turned to go.

Blaine realized something and spoke up quickly. "Hey, Finn! Mercedes... I'm hugely grateful for this, but..I need to ask you another favor."

Finn shrugged. "Sure, what?"

"Could you... um, not mention this to Kurt?" Mercedes raised and eyebrow and opened her mouth to speak, and Blaine hurried to explain himself. "It's just... I think it would upset him, and it might make him reconsider telling me about – he might not call me when something's wrong, or feel guilty, and I don't want that. Please?"

Finn was looked at him for a second, then nodded and smiled. "You're a good guy. I'll see you later." He walked out, yelling over his shoulder to Mercedes that he'd see her in a minute. Blaine turned towards her to check her response to his request. Her expression was unreadable. He decided to give her a minute, and put on the plain white T-shirt Finn had given him. It was far too long, of course, but he tucked it into his regulation Dalton slacks, and decided it didn't look too bad. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his tie, which was clearly ruined. He tossed it in the trash with a sigh.

He spun back to face Mercedes, who was holding out his damp (and mostly clean, if a little pink in parts) shirt. He grabbed it and grinned at her. "Thanks. Really. I know you aren't a huge fan of me, so this – it means a lot. And" - he hesitated - "I really want you to like me, so I don't want to put you in an awkward place, but like I said, I'd really appreciate it if you... just didn't mention this to Kurt. I just – I don't want him to think that this has changed anything. Because it hasn't. It wouldn't."

Mercedes grabbed her book bag, and walked towards the door. She stopped when she was next to Blaine, seemed to decide something, and kissed him softly on the cheek."Just look after my boy, 'k?"

He could only nod and watch her leave. A moment later he realized that he was standing around in the girls bathroom at a school that wasn't even his. He grabbed his clothes and went to his car, where he drove back to school, glad that Kurt clearly had more people who cared about him than he realized.

Only three things really changed after that day.

Kurt noticed, to his surprise and delight, that Mercedes would smile when he talked about Blaine. She'd even ask how he was occasionally.

Finn told Kurt that he clearly had pretty good taste in guys. Kurt was confused by this, but chose not to pursue it.

And Blaine bought a new tie, and promised himself that Kurt would never find out that he'd been exposed (even so ridiculously minutely) to what he himself had gone through at McKinley. It was too unimportant to risk everything they had, and everything they could be (he chastised himself whenever he thought that, but it still persisted in crossing his mind).

Which is why he was so very angry when Wes casually mentioned at lunch one day - about three months after Kurt transferred - that he hadn't seen Blaine's hair look so ridiculous since that day he'd come back from McKinley with cherry slushie in it, and Kurt heard this and dropped his fork.

Best friends were so overrated.


	6. Art

_[A/N]: T__hose who asked for the moment after (the Blaine/Kurt conversation following that last chapter)... I'm inclined to say no. I feel like it's stronger to end it there. But I am listening, and I'll see. If it happens, and I'm happy with it, then I may post it as a separate one-shot._

_[Edit: I lied. It's posted as "A Very Slushie Aftermath" on my profile. You should go read it, if you are so inclined.]_

_Also, there's language in this. In more than just the 'words' sense. And this series is going to get more adult as it goes on. Enjoy, and let me know your thoughts._

* * *

Blaine burst though the door of their room at 4:35 on Friday afternoon, and looked around frantically. He spied Kurt lying on his bed, reading _Macbeth_, and practically growled.

"Where," he asked accusingly, "is he?"

Kurt looked up. "Who?" It was a fairly easy guess. There were only two people that could make Blaine that angry... and one of them was more a follower than a leader. Although Blaine didn't usually... well, _ever_ get _this_ angry. It was a little odd to see him that way. Also, although Kurt would die rather than admit it, it was undeniably sexy.

"I am going to KILL HIM." Blaine stalked over to the closet and flung the door open, obviously expecting someone to be in there. He growled in frustration, and pitched the volume of his voice slightly higher, so it would carry to the surrounding rooms. "Do you HEAR ME, WESLEY? I am going to KILL YOU."

"As justified as I'm sure that would be, and as much as I'm sure humanity would thank you, can I ask what his crime was? You know, in case I'm asked to explain to the nice ladies and gentlemen of the jury..."

Blaine snarled again (it really wasn't a sound entirely without merit, Kurt decided) and threw his chemistry lab notebook on Kurt's bed. Kurt looked where his friend was pointing, appeared genuinely surprised and confused for a moment, and then couldn't help it. He snorted.

"It's NOT funny." Blaine looked betrayed. Kurt looked at his face, tried very hard to look solemn, and then snorted again.

"It's a _little_ funny..." He saw the expression on his friend's face. "I mean, they did do good likenesses."

"That is NOT the point." Blaine snatched the notebook back, and turned towards the hall. "WES! I know you're out there SOMEWHERE. I know where you SLEEP!"

A distinct giggle came from down the hall, and Blaine looked ready to stalk out in pursuit of his prey. Kurt glanced at the murderous look on his roommate's face, and slid gracefully between him and the door.

Blaine looked at him like he was insane. "Kurt. _Move_."

"Can't do that. If you kill Wes I'll have no one to steal gummy bears from." He didn't budge.

"I," Blaine said through gritted teeth, "will buy you gummy bears. I will buy you the _fucking _gummy bear _factory_. Let me go, so I can slowly eviscerate the evil conniving little -"

"Be that as it may, I'd kind of miss you if you went to jail, and David would probably die of loneliness."

"I'll write. And _good_. I'm fairly certain he was there too. Two birds with one stone. Two EVIL birds..." Blaine gripped Kurt's arms, and attempted to push him gently to the side. Kurt was having none of it.

"I need you to sit down, Blaine."

"Did you see this? This is only one! He also did all the others!"

Kurt took the notebook, which Wes had decorated with hearts, stick figure drawings of Blaine and Kurt (who were helpfully labeled for convenience) holding hands, and scribbles interlocking the names Hummel and Hamilton with Blaine's name. Kurt's favorite (although he would never confess it) was the one below the biggest, most intricate picture of them, which read "Blaine + Kurt Hummel-Hamilton = Tru Luv 4eva".

"It is," he admitted, "a real pity he got the grammar so terribly wrong."

Blaine spluttered, but took a step back. "The grammar? Fuck the grammar! I had to turn in three lab reports and a journal today! And when I got them out to take to class this morning they had been... DEFACED. Which is, incidentally, WHAT I'M GOING TO DO TO WES."

"Technically," Kurt pointed out, "they weren't defaced. In fact, they were faced. See?" He pointed to the pictures, and Blaine looked at him again like he had lost his mind...which Kurt thought was kind of ironic.

"Why aren't you angry about this?" Blaine demanded, launching himself onto his bed in agitation. Kurt stepped away from the door gratefully.

Kurt shrugged. "I just don't think it's that big a deal. Wes and David already tell everyone who'll listen that we should be together anyway... why fight it?" He saw the look on Blaine's face and hastily added "The telling, I mean. Not the... other stuff."

Blaine seemed to falter before his vendetta got back on track."Right... yeah, I mean – but, he's still - I still have to – now the entire staff is going to think we're..."

"Would they really care?"

Blaine looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. "They might have a problem with us rooming together. I don't know. I've never heard of it coming up, I just thought that it might be... weird. For you – us. To think that they think..." He trailed of and Kurt shrugged.

"Like I said, don't you think most of them already do?"

Blaine ruffled his hair distractedly. "I don't know. I guess."

"So it really doesn't matter."

He closed his eyes. "I guess not as much as... maybe I overreacted a little."

Kurt went back to his bed and picked up his play. "Good." He gestured to the abandoned notebook. "It was a fairly good likeness, you know."

This was greeted with an eye roll. "Don't ever let Wes hear you say that."

"Of course not."

The door swung open.

"Hey, Kurt, I heard it go quiet so I figured Blaine must've – oh, shit." Wes ran for his life. Blaine was after him in less than a second, racing around the corner before Kurt could even think of leaning in to stop him. Years of running track were going to pay off.

There was a sigh and blue eyes turned resignedly back to Act III, scene i of _Macbeth_.

He really would miss the gummy bears.


	7. Air

_Disclaimer: Nope. Still not mine._

_

* * *

_

The darkness was coming. He ran through the hallways, turning corners almost at random in a desperate effort to escape, but it was too fast – he was catching up. There were quick, even footsteps matching his, gaining on him, and he knew that in a few moments it would all be over.

He'd be caught. And then he'd be – _No_. He wouldn't let that happen. He had to keep going, keep running. But he was so tired. He had to find someone.

_Blaine._

He had to find Blaine.

Blaine would know what to do. Blaine would save him. Blaine would tell him how to beat the...

He reached into his pocket, not stopping for an instant, and yanked out his phone. He stabbed at the buttons, but nothing happened. The screen stayed black. It was as black as the darkness chasing him. He threw it aside with disgust, and kept running.

He didn't recognize the corridor he was in, but he couldn't stop. He needed to get away from the bad – the bad – was that a voice yelling his name?

Was that _Blaine_? Had _Blaine found_ him?

He spun around, in search of the voice, which seemed far away, but was stopped by a hand to his throat and horrible, putrid breath on his face.

"_You know you want it. I'm just giving you what you want._"

_No – no_! He didn't want this. He tried to fight, he really did. He was gasping, struggling, but the hands pinning him to the wall were so strong, and rough, uncaring lips were forcing themselves on his, and all he wanted was to be free, to be back in his room with Blaine, and he was fighting to get there, fighting to escape, fighting for all he was worth – for all his friends, and family, and the look in hazel eyes when they smiled at him a certain way.

And he could still hear the voice, dimly, shouting his name... he was so glad. If he was going to suffer he wanted that voice in his head and ears. He wanted that voice to be the last thing he ever heard, as the breath was slowly being forced from his chest and his mouth was being violated, his clothes being torn at in a frenzy of dark, desperate madness.

He knew it was over. He concentrated his final energies on the voice, silently promising it that he had tried. _I was brave for you. I tried to be brave. I tried courage. I swear._

And then he started letting go...

* * *

"Kurt! Kurt, please!"

The voice was close. What? That was odd. Darkness didn't usually sound like velvet.

And as the last air left his lungs Kurt was confused.

* * *

Blaine shook his friend by the shoulders, very afraid that he might make things worse... but surely being awake, if frightened, would be better than whatever hell Kurt thought he was in.

Blue eyes finally shot open to see his roommate pulling him out of his tangled blankets, holding him close so that he could look directly into his eyes. The only light in the room was from a bedside lamp, and the glow was just enough to take both their faces out of shadow. For one horrible moment Blaine thought Kurt was going to continue to fight him. But the confusion of the new reality seemed to overpower the fear and he just blinked.

"Blaine? Is that... Blaine?"

A sigh of relief escaped him. "Yeah, Kurt, it's just me."

Kurt's arms shot suddenly around his neck and pulled him into a hug filled with the kind of intensity that took breath away – or maybe that was just the tightness of warm, shaking arms around him. They stayed there for a minute, safe, and then Kurt pulled back and looked around.

"I – it was a dream?"

"Yes. Just a dream. You're here. With me."

"Oh, thank..." - relief seemed to turn to embarrassment. "Did I – oh, I'm sorry, Blaine, I didn't mean to wake you, it was -"

"Don't be ridiculous. Are you alright?"

"I guess I'm... yeah. Thank you."

"Here, have a glass of water."

Kurt reached for the offered glass, realizing as he did so that the imaginary weight he had felt on his chest had been as far from reality as his attacker.

"Were you back at McKinley?" Blaine's voice was quiet, and their eyes met. Kurt nodded. Blaine's eyes closed briefly, as though the next question caused him pain.

"Karofsky?"

Another nod. But this time Kurt had to speak. His voice was pleading.

"I was trying to get away, Blaine, I really was... but he was holding me down, and he was so angry, and I could hear you – trying to wake me, I guess – but he was breathing on me, saying I wanted it, and then his hands were on me and – I was trying to get away from him, I really -"

A gentle hand touched his forehead, brushing damp hair out of his eyes. "Shh...Kurt, I _know_. You don't have to explain anything. It wasn't real. You're here, and safe, and the only hands on you were mine, trying desperately to wake you up."

Even in his upset state, Kurt had to stop a small part of his brain from going down the 'hands-on-me-in-my-skintight-jeans' route. He sniffed.

"I know. Karofsky isn't here. And he didn't do all that..." Kurt shivered as he reminded himself and Blaine reflexively moved closer. "... that stuff."

"Do you want me to stay awake with you? You should probably rest for a bit, but -"

"No, I can – we should both go back to sleep."

Blaine nodded and got off the bed. Kurt tried hard not to make a noise of disappointment at the loss of contact. He was surprised when his friend returned a moment later holding his pillow and an extra blanket.

"Scoot over."

"What are you doing?"

Blaine looked at him as though he were a little slow, which didn't seem entirely fair considering what time it was. "Going back to sleep. I want to be close in case that happens again."

The response was hasty. "I won't wake you up again, Blaine, I swear, you can just -"

Blaine's tone was one of warning. "You're being ridiculous again. This isn't for _my_ benefit. I'm just worried. I could care less if you kick me all night." Blaine smirked. "Although I'd rather you didn't, of course, as my skin doesn't wear bruises particularly well."

Slightly astonished, Kurt moved over in the bed to make as much room as he could. He really wished he was fully in control of his mental faculties right now, as he was sure there were things he should be saying to his roommate. But he couldn't seem to put words or thoughts together in any order that made sense. So he stayed still while his best friend made himself as comfortable as was possible in the small space. It was a tight, cosy fit, but Kurt couldn't quite bring himself to mind all that much, especially when Blaine put his arm around his shoulders protectively. (Okay, maybe it was logistical too, but he'd take it.)

"You good?"

"Yeah, I'm... thanks, Blaine."

" 's nothing to be thankful for. Just making sure you know I'm here."

"I'm glad."

"Me too."

" 'Night"

" 'Night, Kurt. Sweet dreams."

And as though by saying that he made them a reality, Kurt dreamt of only beautiful things for the last few hours of that night. Although it was surely coincidence that one of the most recurring of those beautiful things was an arm around him, protecting him from the dark things that seemed to have fled at the sight of it.


	8. Books

_A/N: I know I already updated today, but I really like this one, I wrote it last night and finished it today (as a kind of offshoot of a later chapter I already have written), and I just couldn't help myself. Feedback is lovely and reassures me that my ridiculous love for this story/series is even a little bit reasonable._

_This is for Syranda, who left me a lovely, long, comprehensive review that said a number of things I entirely agree with. That makes me happy._

_Disclaimer: I own the character you are about to meet, and the plot (sort of). Otherwise...not so much._

* * *

"Dad, this is Kurt Hummel."

Kurt's head snapped up from his textbook so quickly he feared he might have given himself whiplash. Blaine was standing in the hallway, gesturing through the open door. A man – obviously his father – was with him and stepped into the room. Despite his surprise and undeniable nerves – which were, he reminded himself, ridiculous (it wasn't really a big deal – he was just meeting his friend's father, for crying out loud) – Kurt couldn't help but smile. A wide grin, recognizable as the one his son had inherited, beamed in his direction, and hazel eyes crinkled at the corners. A mop of sandy brown hair covered the wiry man's head, but the resemblance was still striking.

"Kurt! It's a pleasure." He offered his hand, and Kurt took it. "Tell me, do you like Dickens?"

Kurt knew that Blaine's father was an English teacher, but didn't know if there was some kind of established and well known correct answer to that question. He looked briefly to his roommate for guidance, but his friend just rolled his eyes and adopted the embarrassed but amused look of the long-suffering son. Kurt settled on the truth.

"I'm afraid I didn't enjoy _Great Expectations_ much, Sir, but I very much liked _The Old Curiosity Shop_. And it's very nice to meet you."

This seemed to give him pause, and Kurt worried that he'd said the wrong thing. After a moment, though, he found himself enveloped in an affectionate half hug.

"_Curiosity Shop_! Oh, I like this one. He knows his Dickens!" There was a guffaw and then Blaine's father released him and turned to his son. "This one's a keeper. I approve." Blaine turned a shade of red usually reserved for very ripe tomatoes and opened his mouth to speak, but his father had already turned back to Kurt. "And you, excellent friend of my son's named Kurt Hummel, don't call me sir. Not even my students do that. It makes me feel old. My name's Hal Hamilton – call me any part of that you're comfortable with. Now, aside from Dickens -"

"Dad, stop attacking him in a quest to assess his literary merit." Blaine sounded slightly exasperated, as though this was a regular refrain.

Hal turned to Kurt and explained. "My son is embarrassed by me. Honestly, I just like to size his friends up early. You know, you can tell a great deal about a person from their views on Dickens. Blaine's favorite, for example, has always been _A Christmas Carol_ – which makes complete sense once you know him, as I'm sure you can see. You yourself obviously have excellent taste, and are clearly well read. And your specific choices tell me that -"

"Dad. Please, we aren't in class." Blaine rolled his eyes again, this time apologetically at Kurt, who had sat down on his bed to chat with an animated Hal. "I'm so sorry, Kurt, I didn't mean to accidentally spring the more eccentric part of my family on you completely without warning. He came by as a surprise. Dad, weren't we going to go to dinner?"

Hal considered his son thoughtfully for a moment. "You know," he offered, "I'm not sure your mother would like being discounted from categorization as eccentric." He turned back to Kurt. "You haven't met my lovely wife yet, have you?"

"No si – Mr. Hamilton. I've only been here a couple of months."

"Oh, a pity. Beverley would love you. I hear you have quite the voice – Blaine was telling me that -"

"Dad! Kurt does not want to hear a recitation of every conversation we have ever had!" Blaine's expression was slightly panicked, and Kurt dearly wanted to know what Hal had been about to say. But Blaine was still talking. "Besides, didn't you want to say hello to Wes and David before we left?"

Hal grinned. "Of course, they'd never forgive me if I didn't. But I've had a thought. Blaine, you and I can have dinner almost any night – I'll be lecturing in this area again in a few weeks, and possibly sooner... while I'm here, why don't I take the four of you out– go scare up David and that literary heathen. What do you say, Kurt? I want to ask your views on Joyce and Wilde. And, you know, we can talk about your life too. Sound good?"

His enthusiasm was infectious. "I'd love to – if it's alright with Blaine."

"Oh, Blaine hates the idea. But it isn't personal, he's just afraid I'll let slip all his deep dark secrets. Not that he has many. Do you?"

Blaine was looking like this conversation had not gone entirely to plan, but he had the resigned and indulgent smile of a son who knew his father well enough to know when he was beaten, and even enjoy it a little. "I'm sorry to not be more mysterious, Dad. I'll work on that for you."

"Oh, do. A period of teen rebellion, while it's impact might be slightly dulled by being at boarding school, does wonders. So, Kurt, while Blaine goes to find Tweedledum and Tweedledee, you must tell me about yourself. I know a little, of course, but you seem to me a many layered individual. Let us peel you."

"He likes to put on the creepy literary analyst act when he first meets people," Blaine provided, before heading down the hall to fetch the other two. "Humor him and he'll stop sooner."

Kurt was totally enjoying this. "Well, I'm from Lima, and my dad is a mechanic..."

"Excellent. And he's supportive of you?"

"Yes, very. Although it's sometimes hard for him, living where we do, having a son that's well... different. I mean... gay."

Hal nodded. "I'd imagine so. Lima is overall, I believe, a little more conservative than where Blaine went to high school and – well, I'm not sure how much my son has told you, but suffice it to say that the ignorance and prejudice of people can be both shocking and appalling. My son needed to get out of that environment. Would it be rude to ask if you had a similar experience? Blaine never mentioned the details, you see. He probably thought it was too private. If it is, do forgive me."

"No, I don't mind." And he didn't. Blaine's father was the kind of person who understood – that was clear. "I was being bullied. I'd always been... but it got worse. One particular... my life was threatened. And I'd come here to, well, to spy on the Warblers for my Glee club -"

"Yes, Blaine mentioned that – how fortunate! I'm so sorry, do continue."

"Well, I met your son, and he, David and Wes sat me down with a latte, and -"

"Blaine and Kurt decided they wanted to move in together and have dozens of adorable gay babies. So here we are! Hal, why didn't you tell us you were coming by? I would have read something in preparation!" Wes glided into the room, avoiding the blow Blaine aimed at the back of his head with ease.

"That's a lie, Wesley, and you know it. You enjoy flaunting your feigned ignorance far too much." Hal hugged Wes and then David, who had followed the other two in, and asked them if they'd be joining him for dinner. David pointed out that if Hal didn't feed them while he was here Wes' dinner would probably consist of dry pot noodles and chocolate. Hal looked slightly appalled.

"Christ, I'd better take you all out, or Bev will never forgive me."

Wes turned to Kurt. "Last time I stayed at Blaine's house his mother decreed that my eating habits were – and I quote – 'the most horrifying thing in the history of gratuitous stupidity'. She made me eat vegetables... _and_ fruit. It was terrifying."

Hal turned to David. "And you, have you read those books I recommended for you yet?"

"I'm about half way through the list, but I really like Foer. _Everything Is Illuminated_ was brilliant."

Wes brightened immediately. "Hey, I saw that movie! The hobbit guy was in it! Not Blaine, the other one."

Hal gave his son's friend a look that was pure fatherly exasperation. "One of these days, Wesley, you're really going to have to -"

Blaine cut him off, shepherding the group towards the door. "Probably, dad, but whatever it is won't be today, because apparently we're going to buy him some vegetables. Shall we go?"

* * *

Dinner was light and fun, and Kurt's good opinion of Blaine's father only grew.

He'd already known a little about his friend's family – Blaine had once mentioned that his mother married his father for love, something that her wealthy society parents did not approve of in the slightest. In their opinion, he said, a poor young literature teacher (Hal was five years younger than Beverley) was not the sort of man their daughter needed. But, just like in the fairy tales, beautiful debutante Beverley had stood up to her parents for the first time in her life, and Blaine was the result. They were still together, in love, and now the doting parents of a son who had grown up knowing what love – real love - looked like. Even with the money on his mother's side of the family, Blaine had grown up knowing what was important. And seeing Hal converse energetically with David on the merits of _Bambi _before turning to Wes and instructing him to eat another piece of broccoli (or he'd get Blaine's mother over here herself tomorrow), Kurt could believe that. He could see where Blaine's inner light had come from, and it made him smile.

When they got back to school after dinner, Hal bid his son's three friends goodnight, extorting a promise for them to all come stay at _chez Hamilton_ (Blaine rolled his eyes again) the next time they had a long break. He hugged Wes and David, shooing them up the staircase in the entrance hall, before turning to Kurt, and offering his arms. Blaine was leaning casually against the railing of the stairs. Kurt accepted the hug, and smiled despite himself when he heard Hal's whispered parting words in his ear.

"Look after each other. He's worth it. You both are."

He pulled away with a cheery grin, and repeated his invitation to stay as Kurt made his way up the steps, leaving Blaine to say goodbye.

* * *

"I'm sorry about that."

Blaine appeared in their doorway a few minutes later, looking pained. "I'd liked to have given you some warning, but he just showed up, and he wanted to meet you, so..."

"I'm not sure why you're apologizing. I like him a lot. He's great."

Blaine smiled in relief. "He likes you too. I think you've displaced me as his favorite."

"I doubt it." There was a contented pause. "You're a lot like him, you know."

A dark eyebrow flew up. "You think so?"

"Yeah. I mean, your intelligence is quieter, and you're a little more restrained -"

"That's all my mother. You'll see when you meet her. The two of them are hilarious."

" - but you have the same... I don't know... sparkle?"

The other eyebrow shot up. "I sparkle?"

Kurt realized what he'd said. "No – I mean... not in, like, the creepy vampire sense, but you both have this... light that comes on when you're talking about something you care about. Your dad gets it when he talks about you, or your mother, or a great piece of literature..."

"And me?"

"You get it when you talk about music, or writing, or..."- _Sometimes I imagine I see it when you're talking about me._

"Wow." Blaine appeared to be considering this. "I've seen it - in him, I mean. No one's ever told me I do that." He smiled, and his eyes lit up again. "Thanks, Kurt."

Kurt answered with a grin. "I only speak the truth."

Each of them went back to their homework, Kurt reflecting on the new knowledge he had, and what exactly it could mean for them to be 'worth it'.

Blaine, for his part, was trying to concentrate on the subjunctive, but kept thinking of his fathers parting wink, which had accompanied the words "He looks at you the way I look at your mother. Don't let that light go out."

Blaine wasn't sure he was equipped to know what that meant just yet.


	9. Admissions

_A/N: To give you some idea of how much I'm into this, this chapter is on page 32 of the document that contains everything I've written for this story. That document is currently 72 pages long. Don't worry. I plan to edit._

_Also, so glad most of you seemed to like the last chapter! Feedback is lovely, and makes me feel less crazy._

_ I strongly suggest you go read Family Ties, by Keitorin_Asthore (if you haven't had the pleasure already). I've said it before, but it bears repeating._

_Disclaimer: Still not mine. But I'll keep you updated._

* * *

Kurt was lying on his bed at home, about 20 pages into the latest issue of Vogue (and accepting that he really was going to have to go through his closet the next day and weed out all the unfortunately outdated clothing) when his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID out of habit, although the ringtone had already made his heart skip ridiculously with the knowledge of whose name he would see.

Wasn't a skipping heart a sign of a heart attack? Maybe he should get that checked out.

He remembered himself and practically jabbed a hole in his screen in the effort to pick up before the music stopped and the call went to voicemail.

"Hello?"

"Kurt!...Hi!.." Blaine's voice had an edge of surprise. "I thought you weren't going to– um... Hi!"

"Hey, Blaine, what's up?" Casual. Casual was good.

"Umm... Nothing really, I was just... how's Lima?"

"It's fine. Seeing the family is great and Mercedes and I pretty much bought out the mall yesterday. You know, it's nice to be home for a few days. How about you?" _Why did you call me? Was it just to say hi?_

"Yeah, it's good. I've been telling my mom stories about you – I mean, us... you, me, Wes, David... and she wants to meet you – she says you're to come over for dinner one weekend, like my dad had said last time he visited. He told her you're 'a good sort'." Blaine was off on a tangent. Kurt smiled fondly. "He has grand ideas of you coming over and discussing Tennyson. And if that happens, you should ignore whatever he says about me being a romantic. I think he likes the idea of me finding the love of my life sooner rather than later. He's on a 'you've got follow your heart, Blaine' kick right now. More vocally than usual, I mean. It makes things a little awkward. But anyway, tangent. Sorry. If you don't want-"

"That sounds like fun, tell your mom I'd love to meet her." _Calm down, you're just meeting your roommate's mother. You've already met his father, and that went fine. It doesn't mean anything._

It _does not_ mean anything.

"Yeah, great! I will...listen, Kurt..."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing. I...um...just thought I'd call to, you know, check how you're doing. You didn't text me today, so I – not that you have to, you know, I just wanted to see that, um... everything was fine. At home. And it is. Good. So I suppose I should probably let you get back to your weekend, I'm sorry, I just-"

"I miss you too, Blaine." He'd known instinctively that it was the right thing to say, but it still felt like an admission of something much greater. The silence on the other end of the line, which had followed an almost inaudible sharp intake of breath, was a little unnerving. Finally Blaine spoke.

"Good. I mean, yeah. Me too – I – I'm babbling again. I should probably stop talking. But... I – yeah, I miss you." It sounded difficult for him to admit, but it also sounded both true and relieved. Kurt thought this was rapidly turning into his favorite conversation ever, and he was mentally recording every moment to play back later, not particularly caring that he was certain he was taking this far more personally than he should.

"Well, we'll be back at school in a few days, and I'm certain Wes and David will have spent the short break thinking up new and exciting ways to annoy us."

Blaine chuckled, and Kurt thought, not for the first time, that no one's laugh should be that effortlessly sexy. "I'm sure. Wes has been pretty bored. Has he been texting you too?"

"Only every half hour or so."

"Did you also have to explain to him the impracticalities of air-lifting in gummy worms?"

"Twice. He was pretty insistent."

"Yeah. I think his mother's on a diet, so their house is a sugar free zone."

"Oh, no. Does that means he's going to be going through withdrawals all next week?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll barely be in the building before he's been reunited with his beloved junk food stash."

They both laughed, and there was a pause – a comfortable pause born not of awkwardness, but a lack of a need to speak. The easy silence stretched on, and Kurt thought he could easily stay there forever.

Unfortunately, the universe had other ideas.

There was a muffled shout on the other end of the line, and the sound of glasses clinking.

Blaine explained, "Oh, I'm going to have to go be social for a while now – my mom's throwing a dinner party - but I'll – I'll talk to you later, okay? I'll text you?"

He couldn't help but grin in disbelief at the note of uncertainty in those last words. "Yeah, I'd like that. It was nice to hear your– I'm glad you called."

"Me too. And... if I don't talk to you 'til tomorrow, then, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Blaine."

" 'K... Bye."

Kurt smiled at his phone as he put it back on his nightstand. Blaine missed him. It wasn't as much as he was making of it, but it was definitely something.


	10. Blankets

Kurt's nightmares had decreased in frequency and intensity since that first night when Blaine had woken him, but they still happened occasionally.

And so his roommate had come up with a new approach – truth be told, Blaine had liked waking up with his arm around Kurt a little more than he thought he probably should. So now whenever either of them woke the other in the middle of the night, for whatever reason, they'd pile their blankets on the floor of their room, between their two beds, and have a kind of sleepover. Not that they didn't technically have a sleepover every night, but both of them had been limited in their sleepover activities (at least with boys) when they were children, so they indulged themselves. It was a lot easier to pretend they were just good friends when they didn't open their eyes to feel the warmth of each other's bodies pressed together comfortably – or at least, they told themselves it was. And if the space on the floor was small, well, that couldn't be helped. Slight contact was inevitable. And if occasionally one of them would end up waking with an arm over the other, or resting his head on the other's shoulder, well, that wasn't a big deal.

Waking up in the same bed _had_ been kind of a big deal. It was... intimate. Which is why the two confused boys had jumped at the new plan.

Early on the morning after Blaine had stayed in Kurt's bed, he'd opened his eyes to discover that both his arms had sneaked their way across to his friend, one under Kurt's head, the other crossed protectively over his chest. Blaine was not an early riser by nature, so it was the proximity that had roused him from sleep (and was unfortunately starting to have an effect on other parts of him too), and he smiled despite himself when he realized that Kurt's body was angled in towards his, and his friend's head was settled in the crook of his arm, leaning in near enough to almost touch his neck. He pulled away slightly to check to see if Kurt was still asleep (he was) and looked at the clock. 6:29. Alarm. Aaah.

Sure enough, within ten seconds of this thought, Kurt's ipod (it was his turn to pick the music this week) blared out the introduction to_ 4 Minutes _(yesterday had been Disney Tuesday, today it was Countdown Wednesday) and Kurt's eyes flew open. He seemed confused for a moment, and Blaine stayed very still as panic flooded his brain.

This was going to be a difficult morning. What had just happened? They'd slept together. Well, okay, just slept together, but it was still a big deal. And now those blue eyes were looking at him and it would be so easy to – no. _Friend. Conversation. Comfort. He had a nightmare. Focus. _

"Hey." Did that sound casual? Hopefully that sounded casual.

Kurt smiled. That was a good sign. "Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, better after..." Kurt shifted slightly to sit up. "Thanks for... you didn't have to..."

"It isn't about '_have to_'. I want you to be happy here – to feel safe."

"I do. Thank you."

There was an awkward moment as both of them thought about the logistics of this. What was the etiquette for this situation? Was there any? Finally, Blaine figured the silence was worse than any hypothetical.

"We should probably... um... get ready for class." He grabbed his blanket and made to get out of the bed, taking care that Kurt would stay warm. Kurt reached out his hand automatically to touch his friend's shoulder. His face was flushed, but it looked like he needed to speak.

"Really, I... I haven't been able to sleep that well in...I don't know...I just... it means a lot."

Blaine shrugged, knowing that there was nothing nonchalant about this conversation. "Anytime. I'm here. Both literally and figuratively." He grinned suddenly. "Just like a teddy bear."

And just like that, the tension was gone. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Lucky me."

"Oh, yes, very. Now, did you see where I put my shoes last night?"

"Perhaps if you ever put them in the same place twice..."

Life went on. And though both of them held the intimacy of that night close to them, neither knew if they could feel it again without letting words slip out that one or both of them might later regret.

Hence the sleepovers. Less intimacy, more Disney movies and giggling. It was casual, and fun, and contact was normal. They were normal friends, and it wasn't a big deal.

At least, it wasn't until the morning when David came by uncharacteristically early to steal Blaine's copy of _Julius Ceasar_, and burst in without knocking to find his two very asleep friends lying on the floor, with their hands millimeters from each other.

_Oh, for fuck's sake. They're holding hands in their sleep now? And they 'don't have feelings for each other'? This is ridiculous._

David left quietly to go tell Wes that the levels of denial down the hall were reaching critical level.


	11. Records

"Can I borrow your laptop? My internet isn't working."

Blaine waved his hand absently in the direction of the desk, using his other to scratch his head with a pencil. "Sure, over there."

"Thanks."

"No problem," Blaine mumbled under his breath. "I hate irregular verbs."

Kurt paused while retrieving the computer from the desk, repeating his mantra for the thousandth time. "It's the exact same principle as in any other language."

Blaine looked up from his study guide and glared with about as much ferocity as a bunny rabbit. "But it's hard."

"I'll help you later."

" 'k." Blaine continued to study. A few minutes passed, and he flipped through the pages idly, trying to find rules he recognized. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I have to look up some video for history. An interview with one of the – Blaine?"

"Mmmm?"

"Why are all of the recommended videos on your youtube page of New Directions or the Cheerios?"

The pencil fell onto the bed.

"Ah. Well... when we first found out who we were up against at sectionals, I decided to do some research..."

Kurt's eyebrows flew up. "On the McKinley cheerleading squad?"

"Um, well... at dinner one night after we met you mentioned that you were a cheerleader..."

"And so you came back and watched every performance on the internet?"

"I was curious."

"Stalker." Kurt's smile was confused but pleased.

"I was... trying to get the feel for what kind of person you were."

"And he was stalking you on every conceivable networking website he could find." Wes' voice piped up from the open doorway, as though he had some kind of awkwardness alarm drawing him to their room.

Blaine turned pink. "Shut up. I was not."

Wes situated himself comfortably on Kurt's bed before turning to him conspiratorially. "My god, the hours that boy spent on youtube. I was proud of him until I realized he wasn't watching porn. Well, I say he wasn't, really, watching you perform for him is kinda-"

"Wesley, stop it right now and _go away_ before I am forced to do something neither of us will like."

He winked and stood up, heading for the door. "I wouldn't say _neither_ of us. But Kurt, ask him about what he said when he watched that video of you singing _I Want to Hold Your Hand _in Glee club practice. I swear to god, I thought he was going to -"

The closing words of the story were cut off by Blaine's forceful slam of the door, masking the view of their friends grinning face.

Blaine turned with a look that could only be described as strained.

"We really do need to teach that boy how to knock."

But Kurt had been distracted. "What did he – what did you think of _I Want to Hold Your Hand_? Was it too much of a stretch? I mean, there was a lot of bad stuff going on at the time, so I was really feeling it, but I always felt like that song wasn't vocally my finest moment. Did you hate it? You hated it. I know you did. Damn Rachel for putting it on the internet -"

Blaine cut off this illogical rant with practiced ease. "Don't be ridiculous. It was phenomenal." _Now, let's leave it at that._

"Did you really think so? Then what did Wes mean? What did you say?"

Damn Wes. Damn Wes to the deepest darkest depths of hell.

_I said that I'd never seen anything or anyone more beautiful in my entire life._

"I just said I did. It was a... it was stunning. Probably the most touching of the New Directions videos." ..._Or any video ever. I haven't watched it more than fifty times, or anything, It isn't what I watch when I'm at home for the weekend, and I miss you. I definitely don't imagine you're singing it to me. And I don't feel the urge to hug you every time I see it, to try and convince you that everything will be okay._

Kurt's face was still skeptical. "You really liked it."

"I did." _You have no idea._

"Oh, good. Can I turn on your music?"

"Sure."

They went back to studying. Fifteen minutes later:

"Hey, Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"Why is there a playlist of songs with my name on it, and why are they all audio-rips of something – is that my voice? Did you go through the videos and download the audio?"

"Um...A few."

_Fuck_.


	12. Classics

[A/N] This is for Ladyblue82, who totally called me out on my lazy french grammar proofreading. It's good to have people keep me in line. :)

* * *

Kurt was beside himself.

"But... _everyone_ has seen _Dirty Dancing_!" He pointed this out in what he believed was an authoritative tone.

Blaine sighed as he pointed out that clearly this was not entirely true. His roommate had been deeply offended by what he perceived as this gap in Blaine's development as a human being.

Blaine's counter-argument that he may not have seen that particular movie, but he _had_ read most of the books on the list of '500 Books to Read Before You Die' that was circling around on the internet had not been deemed impressive.

This was why they were settling down in the deserted common room on a Saturday afternoon with _Dirty Dancing_ on DVD.

Deserted, that is, except for one other occupant.

David, Blaine explained to Kurt, had a deep and abiding love of musicals and dance movies, but not quite enough confidence in his sexuality to admit it just yet.

The boy in question objected quite strongly to this, pointing to the book he was holding (upside-down) and implying that the lighting was better for reading in this room.

Blaine pointed out that they'd turned all but one lamp off to watch the movie.

David told him to stop laughing and press the damn play button.

Kurt told them both to shut up, because the movie was starting.

* * *

So they watched the movie. Blaine loved it, as he'd known he would, but what he loved more was the way that Kurt's laughter or snorts of disapproval at the characters' actions would make him lean across to murmur in Blaine's ear. And the way their hands sat between them just barely brushing against each other occasionally.

It was almost like it was a date. Which it wasn't. But it could have been. Kind of.

Except most dates didn't have a very annoying friend sitting a few feet away, grinning like an idiot at every (wonderfully) cheesy line and laughing uproariously at each mildly amusing moment.

Blaine kind of hated David right then.

But a moment later Kurt leaned in to snicker and mutter something about David's girlfriend finding out he had a crush on Johnny Castle (or something like that, Blaine was a little distracted) and he couldn't really find it in his heart to complain or hate at all.

He was watching a movie with a cute boy, who was also his best friend and roommate.

Even having David as a quasi-third-wheel couldn't ruin that.


	13. Gifts

_A/N: This is (somewhat appropriately) a belated birthday gift for psychopiratess, who totally deserves it. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

You know that cliché about buying for the man who has everything?

Well, Kurt had decided that Blaine _was_ that cliché. He had probably been the original person being discussed. Because no experience in Kurt's life had been as exhausting or time-consuming as trying to pick out that boy's birthday present. And Kurt was _good_ at shopping. He was _excellent_. He and Mercedes had spent 6 hours walking around the mall last time he was home. But his friend was impossible to buy for. And when Kurt had casually mentioned this one night, Blaine had just laughed and said that he didn't need a present, because being having wonderful friends like Kurt was the best gift he could get. Which, while sweet and cheesy, Kurt acknowledged, was not helpful in the slightest. Mostly because he knew it was true. Having money (and absurd amounts of it) had made Blaine very generous, but it had also made him selfless. If he saw something he really wanted then he got it (for the most part), but he didn't spend much money on himself. He just didn't see the point. So he probably _would_ love whatever Kurt gave him, even if it was nothing but a hug. But Kurt wanted to get him something he'd really adore. Something spectacular. He just had no idea what that should be.

And Wes' gleeful suggestion of "a good sexing up" was not helpful either. Wes and David had it easy – they'd known what they were getting Blaine for weeks, apparently. They were just the best friends. Kurt was the best friend and roommate. And the... whatever else they were now. The sometimes-he-thought-almost-possibly-maybe-something-in-the-future-if-he-wasn't-imagining-things. He had responsibilities. And those responsibilities were proving ridiculously difficult to fulfill.

The idea was one that kind of germinated over time. Blaine had a playlist of him on itunes (Kurt hadn't mentioned that he was in possession of more than a few tracks of Blaine's). He had told Kurt that his voice cheered him up immensely. He'd said that Kurt's presence was the best gift he could have. Maybe he could give his friend a little more of his presence for when he wasn't there?

Mix CDs were a classic (if possibly pathetic) I-kinda-like-you gift. They needed to be special songs, with important messages, and ones that could make his voice could sound amazing. Important songs, but not ones that gave anything away. Casual. Friendly. But special.

He spent hours trying to pick them out. Whenever he came across one that was perfect he'd scribble it down, until he had a list of ten songs he knew – or rather, hoped – would make a good gift. But he'd better make chocolate muffins or something, just in case.

He was loathe to involve Wes and David, but realized that their cooperation would be necessary. The only place he could record anything and make it sound decent would be in the downstairs common room, where they held their Warblers meetings, and the fact that there was a piano (he could find a guitar) there made it perfect. Ordinarily he'd have asked Blaine to play the accompaniment for him, but obviously it would need to be someone else. And unfortunately David was the only other good choice. So Wes would need to distract Blaine for a few hours, and keep him upstairs, so that David and Kurt could work.

Wes was far more excited than was entirely reasonable about this plan, and his task in particular. Kurt had, however, had to put his foot down when the first diversionary plan involved water balloons and matches. Finally Wes (reluctantly) promised there would be no fire or destruction of public property, and everything was set. Blaine's present would be perfect. Kurt decided that the next Tuesday (four days before the big day) would be when the plan would be enacted.

* * *

"Hey, do you think you can help me study for my french test tonight? Subjunctive gives me a headache."

It was Tuesday morning, and Kurt was having second thoughts. Well, more like three hundred and thirty-seventh thoughts.

A CD? Why would Blaine want a CD of him singing? They lived together. He was probably permanently sick of the sound of his voice. It was a terrible idea.

He'd discussed this with David, who had told him he thought the gift was fine (rolling his eyes when Kurt insisted that "fine" was not good enough) and, in a moment of desperation, Wes, who had reiterated his suggestion of a striptease before pointing out that Kurt had better not change his mind, because he was taking his duties as decoy very seriously. Kurt did not like the sound of that one bit, but decided to stick to his plan

This was why he was a little distracted when Blaine addressed him at breakfast that morning. He blushed and snapped out of his stupor.

"Um... what? Sorry – I was thinking about my literature paper. What did you say?"

Blaine took a bite of his toast and smiled. "Just wondering if you can help me study later. Seeing as you're the french speaking genius and all."

"Umm... tonight I can't. I have... a thing. But tomorrow is good. Can it wait?"

His friend shrugged. "Sure. Hardly going to change between now and then." He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. "What do you have to do tonight?"

"What? What do you mean? Just stuff. Why do you want to know?"

He looked a little taken aback by the defensiveness of Kurt's response. "I was just curious... never mind. Have fun." He pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'm going to go to history." He picked up his bag with an odd look at his roommate, and took another sip of his coffee. "See you later."

As soon as he was out of sight Kurt's shoulders slumped and he let his forehead land on the table with a thump.

This boy was actually making him crazy.

* * *

At 5pm, after the Warblers finished practice, David and Kurt blockaded the doors to the main common room and set up Kurt's laptop... which actually had a pretty decent microphone on it, considering how cheap it had been. He'd have liked to have stolen Blaine's, which was better... but that would have proven far too complicated.

He turned his phone to silent while David laughed knowingly at his song choices, noticing while he did so that he had a new text. Blaine.

_'I know you have your mysterious thing tonight, but when you're done I'm going to be having a Disney marathon in our room, in an effort to avoid studying. If you'd like to join come on up. I'll let you pick. Sorry if I was weird earlier. :)'_

Kurt shook his head. Unbelievable. He was the one acting like a lunatic and _Blaine _apologized to_ him._ And offered him a _Disney marathon_.

It was utterly absurd that anyone could be that perfect. And it would be so tempting to tell David he'd changed his mind and go sing along to his favorite movies with his adorable, perfect (delicious looking) roommate.

But no.

He had to give adorable, perfect (delicious looking) roommate a great present in four days.

Or at least a CD of him singing songs he probably shouldn't be thinking about his best friend while singing.

Courage.

* * *

After an hour, when they'd gotten through four of the ten songs, Kurt heard a noise coming from the hall. It was chattering and footsteps. He was ready to ignore it and continue when he picked up a few words of it and shushed David immediately.

"Blaine, I really think you should go finish watching the movie. I know it's my favorite. Come on, let's go back upstairs. Did you ever notice that Jasmine's outfit is quite -"

"Shut up, Wes. I must've left my sheet music in here yesterday when I was – what are you doing?"

"Just trying to turn you around so we can go get my copies. They're in my room, so you can borrow them no problem and we can just -"

"Thanks, but mine has my notes on it."

"Mine has notes too!"

"You're hilarious. Why are you being weird? I'm just going to – Wes, what the hell are you doing? Let go of my arm!"

"You don't need the music 'til tomorrow anyway. Besides, I just remembered, this common room is closed."

"Closed? I was in here earlier and -"

"Nope. They closed it. Heard it just now – I mean...earlier. They had to close it."

"Why?"

"Because of..." - Wes sounded slightly desperate - "...termites."

"Termites?" Kurt could practically hear Blaine's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

"Yeah! It's closed for tonight. So I guess we'll just have to -"

"I've had enough of this. I have no idea what you're talking about, but " - there was a sharp tug on the door accompanied by a "Blaine, don't!" Then Blaine's voice came back in. "Oh, this is absurd."

"I told you so."

"Fine. Termites. Whatever."

The footsteps started to trail off as the voices got quieter and both Kurt and David breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Wes had done them proud.

* * *

Another hour later Kurt arrived back in his room with his laptop to find Blaine watching the end of _Aladdin_. He threw his stuff down on the bed and handed him some papers from his binder without thinking.

"Hey... here."

"Thanks." His roommate glanced down at the sheet music and looked up in confusion. "Where did you find this?"

_Damn._

"It was, um, mixed up with some of mine."

Blaine looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Weird, I thought I left it downstairs. Anyway, thanks. How did your super secret 'thing' go?"

His friend's voice was casual but Kurt could tell that the secrecy hurt him. He forced a smile. "Good, thanks. How many movies so far?"

"Two. I saved the best for last though, in case you showed up. We can start with -"

Kurt had been pulling his headphones out of his bag as he'd spoken, and he hesitated before responding.

"Actually, I kind of have some...stuff to do. But I'd really like to. Raincheck?" His face was full of apology.

Blaine paused and then smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sure. We'll do it another time. Don't let me distract you."

He went back to watching the movie with such a badly hidden expression of disappointment that Kurt fervently hoped that his reaction on Saturday would be worth it.

* * *

The next four days passed and Kurt barely saw his roommate. The fact that they had no classes together combined with Warbler's practice being cancelled (there was a bad cold going around the group so Wes had declared the club quarantined - despite several people pointing out that quarantine wasn't the correct word), exam prep classes for one or both of them in the evenings, and lunchtime review sessions meant that Blaine and Kurt usually spent less than ten minutes a day together while awake, and most of that wasn't alone.

So when Blaine came back to their room at 11:57 on Friday night, having spend the last six hours tutoring a none-too-bright freshman on the sonnets, he was glad to see Kurt sitting on the end of his bed, albeit slightly nervously.

"Hey there."

Kurt smiled. "Hey."

"I feel like I should say it's been ages, but it just feels that way."

"I know. We've both been so busy..."

He made himself comfortable on his own bed. "Yeah. Exams, tutoring... your secret thing."

"Blaine, about that -"

He sat up. "Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"You'd tell me if you were...seeing someone, wouldn't you?"

"What? Seeing someone? As in -"

"As in, you'd feel like we were good enough friends to tell me if your secret was anoth – I mean, a guy, right?"

Kurt snorted at the seriousness of the look on Blaine's face, and then burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of that entire notion. "You thought that I was busy because I'd found someone el – because I'd found a _boyfriend_? That's -" he burst into giggles again.

Even Kurt couldn't miss the wave of unmistakable relief that crossed his friend's face. "So you aren't seeing anyone?"

"Of course not." A horrible thought occurred to him. "Why, are you?"

"N – no! I was just – I just thought... never mind. What were you going to say before?"

"Well, as it happens I was going to try to be the first to wish you Happy Birthday."

Blaine automatically looked at the clock. It was 12:01. His face relaxed completely. "Thanks."

"I have...um...a present for you."

"I told you I didn't need gifts."

"And I ignored you."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well... you're old."

"Seventeen does feel ancient so far, I have to say."

"Here... this is for you." Kurt opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a plain jewel case. He'd decided to keep it simple. There was a track list on the inside cover, and Blaine flipped it open immediately. He read his friend's neat, measured cursive and murmured out loud to himself.

"_Don't Cry For Me Argentina, I Want To Hold Your Hand, Love Story, First Day of My Life, Secret Smile, She Will Be Loved, I'll Follow You Into the Dark_...these are all great. Is this a mix? You didn't have to -"

Kurt gulped. "It's me."

"What?"

"It's me. Singing. On the CD."

Blaine stopped moving for a moment. He blinked. Then he picked his laptop up off the floor and slid the CD in without speaking further.

Kurt opened his mouth as it loaded, now sitting at the bottom of his roommate's bed. "You don't have to -"

Blaine held up a finger to ask him to wait. He picked a song and clicked play.

"_Love of mine,_

_Someday you will die._

_But I'll be close behind..._

_I'll follow you into the dark._

_No blinding light,_

_Or tunnels to gates of white,_

_Just our hands clasped so tight,_

_Waiting for the hint of a spark._

_If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied,_

_Illuminate the 'no's on their vacancy signs,_

_If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks,_

_Then I'll follow you into the dark."_

He clicked pause and turned to Kurt, really looking at him. His voice was soft and Kurt wasn't sure, but he thought he might have seen a tear in his eye.

"Thank you."

There was so much being said with those eyes and words. Kurt wanted to take the time to decode every single fleck and nuance. But that would take too long, and he was sitting there staring at Blaine. Well, they were staring at each other._ Does that mean any_- he snapped himself out of it.

"Some of them you've heard, I know, but the quality is a bit better than the video rips you have. And David did a really good job on the accompaniment, especially the guitar. It isn't much -"

"It's perfect."

"I just wanted to give you something...personal. Something you'd know was for you."

"It's the best gift I've ever gotten." His tone was simple and truthful. He ignored Kurt's snort. "Wait... is this what you were spending all that time on?"

"It wasn't that much, I just had to fix some of the levels for the recording that -"

Blaine was suddenly next to him, sitting with him at the end of his bed, and his arms were around Kurt and he was being squeezed so tightly he thought he might break, and with his head buried in his roommate's shoulder he was surprisingly okay with that idea. Then the hold relaxed slightly and he breathed in the smell of licorice and mint he would forever adore as a reminder of this. Of them. He could have sworn he felt a quick kiss pressed to the top of his head, and then he was released.

"I've been seventeen for less than ten minutes and it's already my favorite year."

They just smiled for a minute. Then Kurt figured he'd better check if he still had the power of speech.

"So, what are your plans for today?"

"Well, Wes and David will be here in about six hours, because they seem to feel that the best birthday present is being dragged out of bed before the sun comes up. They'll then drag us – you aren't getting out of it if I can't – to breakfast somewhere. Although it will probably be brunch by then, because their kidnapping exploits tend to be spoiled by their inability to agree on a destination. Then we get to do what I want for the afternoon. Usually my parents would be here too, but they convinced me to come home for all of next weekend, so I told them I'd spend it with my friends instead. My mother will probably just call me about ten times to tell me how much she misses me. And Wes will almost certainly set something on fire at some point."

"How do you know this?"

"Wes and I kidnapped David on his birthday. It's tradition. Your day will come."

"Ah. Well... what is your activity of choice?"

"I don't know. I was thinking ice-skating. David is at his funniest when he's falling over every thirty seconds. Or maybe paint balling? Or trampolines? Or a theme park?... I feel about seven years old right now." He looked it too. He was getting a slightly giddy glint in his eye.

"So, essentially you want a fairground."

Blaine's eyes lit up. "Yes!"He grabbed his computer and turned it on. "Kurt, you're a genius!"

"I try."

"There's an old-style fairground in... where is that? Like, an hour from here?" He showed him the screen.

"More like an hour and a half," Kurt estimated.

"That's a long way." His excitement was infectious, but he was trying to control himself. His tone was slightly plaintive, though. "If we can go I'll drive."

"Don't be absurd. It's your birthday. We'll take you to the fair."

His childish grin grew. "Really?"

"Of course."

"You're the best." Kurt couldn't help but smile at the way Blaine seemed to have become years younger. He got up and went over to his own bed.

"Yeah, I know. 'Best-est ever'. We'd better get to sleep if we're going to be woken at an insane hour of the morning."

"Yeah, I guess." They both got ready for bed, and it wasn't until the lights were out that Blaine felt the need to speak.

"Hey, Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"That really is the best present I've ever gotten. And only you could have given it."

A pause.

"I'm glad. Happy Birthday, Blaine."

"Thanks. 'night."

"'night."

And both went to sleep smiling – Kurt from the glow of a perfect gift given, and Blaine from the satisfaction of knowing he had Kurt's voice on a disc as well as in his thoughts.


	14. Experiments

_A/N: I__f you don't know the song/show I'd look it up and listen to it. This chapter is almost entirely dependent on it._

* * *

"Hey, Kurt, can you do me a favor?"

Kurt spun around in the crowded hall to face Wes, who was bestowing him with a look that he liked to refer to as his puppy dog eyes, but actually kind of made him look more like he had accidentally glued his upper lip to his nose. Kurt was pretty immune. But, he decided, when you've had far more persuasive pleading looks thrown at you on a near daily basis in recent times, it might tend to skew your judgement. Still, it was Wes. Caution was necessary.

"I don't know. What do you need?"

"Weeeelllll..." Wes pulled him out of the line of pedestrian traffic so they didn't get stampeded by stressed students rushing to class. "It's less of a favor for me, and more of a favor for Blaine..."

Kurt was very careful to keep his expression neutral. "So, why can't he ask me?"

"Well, it's more of a general favor, I guess..."

"Wes, I have to go to class eventually. Spit it out."

"That's what he said."

Kurt turned to go, and Wes was immediately contrite.

"No! I'm sorry, it just slipped ou – ha! That's wha"- he saw the look on his friend's face and reconsidered. "Sorry. Well, we've found a great song we'd like to create an arrangement for, maybe, and we want to see if it'll work. Blaine'll be trying it out tonight."

The blue eyed boy thought he did a very good job of hiding his excitement at getting to hear his roommate sing something new. He didn't. But he tried, and Wes gave him credit for that.

"So, why do you need me? I'll be at rehearsals, just like always, but if the arrangement isn't done..."

"Well, the thing is, the song is kind of a duet in parts – we'd probably take those bits out ultimately, it's so short anyway, so it'd kind of be a transition piece, or an ending piece, or something...but I suppose we could leave it the way it is..."

"Wesley, get to the point."

"Well, I – we – were wondering if you could help by singing the other part, just for tonight. It's right up your street, I figure you must know it." He crossed his fingers that his faith in Kurt's obsessive knowledge of Broadway musical lyrics was warranted.

Kurt visibly relaxed. "Sure. What is it? Rent? Into the Woods?"

"No, it's from Next To Normal."

Now Kurt just looked confused. There wasn't a male duet for his voice in Next To Normal. He'd know. He'd listened obsessively to the soundtrack for weeks when it was released. "What is he singing?"

"_Perfect For You_."

Kurt actually gasped. Almost inaudibly, but still.

"That's...that's a little bit of an...odd pick for Blaine's voice, isn't it?"

"Not really. I thought you loved it..."

"I – I do, it's a great song, but..." He struggled for reasons. "...his voice would be almost wasted on something so – anyway, it isn't a good choice for regionals, it's far too -."

Wes looked a little exasperated. "Look, Kurt, if you don't want to do it just say so. We're just trying it out, to see if the style works for us. It would be different, certainly -"

"But I – does Blaine know about this?"

Wes feigned offense. "Of course!" It wasn't technically a _complete _lie. Wes had every intention of telling him once he got Kurt's agreement. And once they were somewhere with lots of faculty advisors present, just in case. "But if you don't think it's a good idea then I can tell Blaine you don't want to sing with him. He'll understand, I'm sure, and -"

"No, no! That's not – I - I'll do it!"

Wes' smile bounced back instantly. "Excellent." He pulled some papers out of a folder he was carrying and handed them to a shell-shocked Kurt. "See you at 4:30. Don't worry, we know you won't have rehearsed. It's just a few lines." And with that he bounded off, leaving Kurt staring at the pages and wondering why he'd agreed to be publicly serenaded by his best friend, for whom he was pretty sure his non-platonic feelings were entirely inappropriate, in front of a large group of people without any real preparation.

The only explanation he could think of was that Wes' puppy dog eyes must have been better than he'd thought.

* * *

"You did WHAT?"

"Mr. Hamilton, shh!"

Blaine threw an apologetic smile at the librarian, who melted instantly and shot him a friendly wink back. The poor woman had never known what hit her, Wes thought ruefully. When his friend turned back around, however, it was definitely not a charming smile Wes was greeted with, although the volume of his voice was lower.

"Wes, what are you trying to do?" He was practically hissing the words, and Wes was very glad to have picked a public place to share the news.

"Well, Blaine, I was trying to find someone with the right vocal range to sing the other part in the duet you're trying out today."

"If you were so concerned with appropriate vocal choices you wouldn't have dismissed every suggestion I made and picked this song. I swear to god, Wes, if this is another of your insane schemes to try and convince me and -"

"Insane schemes? God, Blaine, what do you think I am? I'm just trying to make sure we give this song the consideration it deserves. I know you love that show... but if you don't want to sing it then by all means, let's hand it over to someone else. I just thought it would be nice, after the performance at sectionals, to give you a go at something a little different. Excuse me for trying to help out my best friend. Jeez." He huffed a little bit and watched Blaine's face soften almost completely at his sincerity. Which was mostly genuine. Really.

Blaine looked a little sheepish when he spoke again. "Listen, Wes, I'm sorry if I – look, I know you mean well, and I appreciate that. I really do. It's just... I don't want to make Kurt do anything that would make him uncomfortable. And I..." he trailed off.

Wes picked up his books and made to leave, patting his friend on the shoulder. "It'll be great. It isn't that big a deal. We wouldn't do the whole song at regionals anyway."

Blaine smiled, but he still seemed nervous. "You're right. See you later."

"You bet."

As he left the library Wes texted David.

_'I swear to god, if this doesn't work I'm going to lock them in a supply closet for a day or several until they either die or put us all out of this misery.'_

The reply he got wasn't especially encouraging. '_Well, at least you'd get points for irony.'_

* * *

"Are you sure you're good with this?

Kurt and Blaine had both gotten to rehearsal late, so they hadn't been able to practice together. In fact, they hadn't even seen each other since before Wes unveiled his plan. Neither of them knew, however, that this was what Wes was counting on - spontaneity

When Blaine asked Kurt if he was sure he was okay with this, right before Wes announced them, there was a large part of the counter-tenor that wanted to say no and run from the room. But he reminded himself that it wasn't a big deal, and it wasn't like they were really performing it. There were only performing for fifteen other teenage boys. It wasn't anything to be concerned about. It was just Blaine. Never mind the fact that it was... well, _Blaine_.

"I'm good. Wish we had time to run through it though."

"Me too. But at least it'd be an odd arrangement anyway, right? And it's just an experiment."

"I don't see how they'll make it a cappella."

Blaine shrugged. "It's not obvious to me either. At least I don't have to adapt this one. But Wes is all excited about it."

Speak of the devil. "Are you two ready?"

They glanced at each other quickly and nodded.

"Good." He turned to the group. "Now, to start off we're going to have a version of Perfect For You. It's a little different, and we're probably going to cut most of the early section if we decide to use it, but Blaine and Kurt are going to give it a quick go, without any rehearsal together, to see if... erm...creative sparks fly." He ignored the sudden suspicious glare Blaine was fixing him with and nodded. "So... yes! Let's go. David?"

David, who was at the piano, began to play the short introduction. Blaine fixed his eyes on Kurt, who was a few feet away from him, then began.

"_The planet is poisoned, the oceans, the air, around and beneath and above you."_

Kurt cut in, just as he was supposed to:

"_Um, Henry, that's true and I totally care -"_

Blaine wasn't to be derailed.

"_I'm trying to tell you I -"_ he stopped, letting the last two words of the line remain unsaid. But neither of them had time to dwell on what that meant, as the song went on. He picked up the rhythm again immediately.

"_The world is at war, filled with death and disease,_

_We dance on the edge of destruction._

_The globe's getting warmer by deadly degrees -"_

Kurt actually looked confused when he interrupted again.

"_...And this is one fucked up seduction."_

Then they were in the section the club could conceivably use, and Blaine knew he should be trying to sell it, but it seemed more important to be making the words crystal clear for one person in the room.

"_This planet is pretty much broken beyond all repair..._

_But one thing is working if you're standing there"._

He let himself take a step forward.

"_Perfect for you,_

_I could be perfect for you._

_I might be lazy, a loner, a bit of a stoner, it's true."_

He made it his mission to make Kurt laugh on that line, and he wasn't disappointed. The giggle was like a benediction. Then he was sincere again.

"_But I could be perfect - I'd make myself perfect,_

_Perfect for you._

_You square all the corners, I straighten the curves -"_

Kurt had almost forgotten that they were singing. He'd almost forgotten what singing was. Luckily habit opened his mouth for him.

"_You've got some nerve, Henry, and I'm just all nerves!"_

Blaine made his mouth open.

"_But even if everything else turns to dirt..."_

Kurt's voice joined him as he closed most of the distance remaining between them without thinking.

"_We'll be the one thing in this world that won't hurt."_

The dark haired boy let his voice drop to almost a whisper and took another step forward.

"_I can't fix what's fucked up._

_But one thing I know I can do..."_

He held that note for longer than was necessary, trying to make it count.

"_I can be perfect for you..."_

Kurt looked like he almost reached out, but stopped himself as he repeated the lyric.

"_I can be perfect for you..."_

Even though they hadn't rehearsed, they knew each others voices so well that the harmony on the last lyric was more gorgeous than was entirely reasonable, and Wes, watching, found himself illogically jealous of their talent for the briefest of seconds. And then he let himself hear the mix and he couldn't find it in his heart to be jealous of anything that sounded so right.

"_...Perfect for... you."_

There was silence in the moments after the song finished and then the group broke out into a stunned round of applause. Kurt and Blaine both looked like they were waking up from a particularly surreal dream, blinking as though they'd forgotten where they were. Wes did his best to stop grinning and put on his council member voice.

"Well, thanks, guys! That was astonishing. I'm not sure if we'll be able to arrange it for regionals" - that was a lie, he'd never had any intention of trying, but it had gotten them singing, hadn't it? - "but that was one hell of a performance." He was mildly disappointed they hadn't become so wrapped up in the romance that they'd kissed at the end of the song, but surely they'd both _get it_ now, right? "Let's do some warm-ups!"

"That was...you sounded great." Kurt murmured this to his friend as they both walked over to join the group.

"Thanks, but I couldn't have done it without – you were... that was...that role needs to be rewritten for you."

Kurt laughed."We make a great team."

A smile. "Yeah, definitely."

They stayed there for a moment then awkwardly separated to warm up on different sides of the group.

Wes watched the end of this exchange – which was incorrect in that it was not a long-awaited make-out session - with disgust.

"Unbe–_fucking_-lievable."

He shook his head in wonder, and decided that his next plan would clearly have to be less subtle.


	15. Limits

_A/N: _

_Instructions for this chapter: The music video I talk about is real, and kind of necessary for you to understand what's going on. Go to Youtube and search "UR YellowJackets - You Belong With Me". They just re-uploaded it, so it's the second video that comes up (the live version is great, but the audio quality isn't as good). Watch. Adore. Know that I want that arrangement to happen on Glee so very badly. Then come back and read this, if you so desire. Then tell me how you feel._

* * *

In retrospect, even Wes recognized that he'd pushed this one a little too far.

When he waltzed into their room on Tuesday night (an event which, as usual, caused Blaine to remark to Kurt - from his position lounging on his bed - that they really needed to start locking their door to keep the riff-raff out) with his laptop and announced that he had found a video online of an arrangement that the Warblers _needed _to do immediately, they were immediately suspicious.

Firstly, it was 9pm, and usually by this point Wes would be either on the phone with his girlfriend or playing Call of Duty with David.

Secondly, he had the same manic glint in his eye he got whenever he was planning something truly insane.

Thirdly, Wes loved the Warblers, but if it were something as simple as a possible arrangement he would have texted. Or facebook'd. Walking 10 feet for no reason was unlike the Wes they knew and mostly loved.

Fourthly, they both remembered the last time something similar had happened and were still trying to recover from it.

"No, guys, really! David and I were looking at it and we want to see if we can try it at rehearsals this week... it's fantastic!"

Blaine was skeptical. Wes was never this excited about anything that did not involve mischief or sugar.

"What is it? Something older? And who's the arrangement by?"

"Someone at Rochester. David knows someone who emailed him a copy. And guess what – you and Kurt are going to have to sing lead vocals! And act a bit!"

Both boys visibly started at this, Kurt smiling a little (he had been feeling a little down after not getting a sectionals solo), but he still asked what the song was. "There aren't many songs that require a male duet...let alone something a cappella."

"Well, it's best that you watch it. The Yellowjackets made a music video. It's on youtube." He started to hand his laptop to Blaine, but the lounging boy had clearly gotten on youtube, recognized the school name, and had searched for the group's channel. Wes saw the exact moment his friend noticed which video was the most viewed, remembered having seen it before, and put two and two together.

"Wes..." he started in a warning tone.

Kurt had jumped up from his own bed and crossed to look over his roommate's shoulder. "What? What song is it? Would we be good for it?"

"Why don't you show Kurt the music video?" Wes suggested innocently as he went to sit on the desk chair. Blaine reluctantly pressed play, and the a cappella intro to _You Belong With Me_ came through his speakers. Kurt's eyes, Wes noted, got wider and wider for the three minutes and thirty one seconds the video lasted. There was silence when it finished and then both roommates started talking at once.

"I really don't think it's in my ideal range – you'd only need one lead, really, and Blaine's voice is so much better suited -"

"I just had a lead at sectionals, I really don't need another – you should let Kurt do the whole thing-"

"Are you sure you really want to do this song? Maybe something a little less current would be better -"

"The arrangement is good, obviously, but I really think it may be a little bare for us, we have so many great people -"

" -really think you should consider other options-"

" - don't know if you're thinking of this for regionals, but I wouldn't -"

"-we should look up some of their other songs -"

"-a little controversial for Ohio-"

" - Blaine would do it so much better -"

" - really need Kurt to do it justice -"

Wes stopped them with a hand. "Guys! Relax. We're just going to try it on Friday. You guys did such a great job last time...if it works, and we all love it, great. If you don't like it we obviously aren't going to _make_ you perform it." He pretended to have something suddenly occur to him and affected concern. "Why, singing this song together doesn't make you uncomfortable or anything, does it?"

Kurt and Blaine each paused before their very unconvincing replies.

"Why would it?"

"Of course not."

Wes' grin resurfaced. "Great! I'm sending everyone their parts and arrangement tonight, and we'll have mini rehearsal on Thursday for everyone except the two of you. You might want to run through it a few times before Friday, though. But that should be easy – it's not like you guys never see each other." He saw the look of conflict on Kurt's face and the rapidly forming scowl on Blaine's, and decided to retreat. "Well, 'night guys – I'll go email now and see you in the morning."

When he returned to his room to find David playing with the arrangement on his computer (making it better fit their friends' ranges), he collapsed onto his bed in exhaustion. "This time it had better actually work."

David held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, this was your idea. I'm just doing all the labor."

"All the labor? Blaine might actually kill me if this doesn't play out the way it should. Which it will." He paused. "I still think we should have pitched reshooting the music video."

"Way too pushy. I mean, this isn't subtle to begin with, but that would get you dead for sure."

Wes considered this for a moment. "I'd take it. If it meant them finally getting it the hell together."

David raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. It'd be worth it."

"Even a black eye?"

Wes winced at the thought. "Blaine wouldn't hit me. Not for just messing with him."

"He would if he thought you were messing with Kurt."

"Well... it won't be a problem because the plan is brilliant." Wes settled down with his phone to text his girlfriend. "Now, finish those so I can send them out."

"Oh, yes, I'll just get back to work, shall I, your genius-ness?"

"Someone has to be the mastermind."

David turned back to his computer, muttering darkly about what he could go do with his masterful mind.

Wes settled into his pillows with a yawn. It was tough work being brilliant.

* * *

"I can't sing this."

It was lunch on Wednesday, and Blaine and Kurt were eating as they looked through the sheet music Wes had sent them. Blaine looked up when Kurt spoke.

"It's right in your range. You'll sound great."

"No, I – it's not the song. I just... I can't sing it with _you_."

As good as Blaine was, he couldn't disguise the flash of hurt that crossed his face.

"What, you don't think I'll sound good?" He made the question sound far more casual than it was.

Kurt looked a little irritated. "Don't be ridiculous. It'll sound fantastic. It's a phenomenal arrangement, and you know your voice is perfect for it."

"Then what? Is it the fact that Wes is clearly abusing his power to satisfy his own agenda?" His voice was casual.

"You – you noticed that?"

"It's Wes. He's one of my best friends. I'm deeply suspicious of everything he does, ever since my first week here when he tried to convince me that playing the violin had always been my true calling, as he wanted to put together a classical rock ensemble to win his girlfriend back."

"You play the violin?" Kurt had been distracted from the point of the story.

Blaine shrugged. "A little."

"How did I not know this?"

"You never asked."

"How many other – never mind. Not the point."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's fine."

"Obviously it isn't." Blaine leaned in to look his friend in the eye. "Kurt, if you don't want to sing we don't have to, you know. We can tell Wes to shove his arrangement right up his -"

"No." Kurt smiled slightly. "It'll be good. It'd be a bold choice for regionals, so I see why he'd want to try it. You want to sing through it quickly?"

"You sure?" He wasn't buying it in the least, but he was kind of curious about how they'd sound.

"Yeah."

" 'K. I have to go right now, but I'll meet you in the common room after class?"

"Sounds good." They each went their own ways, taking deep breaths and hoping that this went well. Neither of them were sure just how 'well' to hope for, though.

* * *

"This isn't enough pressure." Wes was having second thoughts.

David raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"We need them to crack. They did a duet last time – a freaking love song they both adore – and it didn't work. I need something big. Something they can't ignore."

"Not going to lie, man, you're sounding a little crazy."

Wes snapped, which did nothing to help his case.

"David, I can't fucking take it any more! Them looking at each other when the other one is distracted – the wistful looks whenever I say something dirty – jumping down my throat every time I casually mention that one or both of them need to get laid – and, oh, god, the sighing! Don't forget the sighing! And if I hear Blaine talk about how blue eyes are the -"

"I know! I get the point! They're a freaking love story. I'm there for it too. I'm just saying, you don't want to push it too hard, Wes. You don't want to end up _breaking_ them because you're concentrating on getting them together."

Wes seemed to have tuned out most of this. "Love story..." he muttered thoughtfully. "They're a love story... my friend, you are almost as brilliant as me!"

David did not seem to find that nearly as comforting as Wes intended.

* * *

"Right, guys! Everybody here? Rich? Oh, there you are. Jeff? Good. Okay, so we've rehearsed this separately a little, and now we're going to run it with Blaine and Kurt singing the vocals, to see if we might be able to use this for Regionals." There was a murmur of excitement, but Wes wasn't done. "I also had an idea which I wanted to share, just to think about, and maybe we'll try to fit it in later today. I was thinking we could make our set list a little different by attaching it to a storyline – kind of like the guys at UR did, but with whatever other songs we pick – it'll give us some guidelines for our choices and point us towards what sound we're going for. Obviously, _You Belong With Me_ would be a good ending piece. But anyway, more on that after. Let's give this a go!"

The sixteen boys arranged themselves, Kurt and Blaine in the front row, and started the gorgeously arranged introduction. The two soloists braced themselves and Wes told them to sell it (before jumping into his part). Kurt took a deep breath and looked at Blaine, praying that the first lines, which were far lower than he preferred to sing, would sound good.

"_You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset._

_She's going off about something that you said._

_She doesn't get your humor like I do._"

Blaine jumped in, right on cue, meeting Kurt's eyes.

"_I'm in my room, it's a typical Tuesday night_

_I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like."_

Kurt took a step closer to close the lyric.

"_And she'll never know your story like I do."_

He let his gaze linger before turning out to continue_._

Blaine took a moment to appreciate the backing arrangement again before Kurt's voice robbed him of any other thoughts. The countertenor was comfortably in his range now, past the section that David had changed for him.

"_She wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts._

_She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers._

_Dreaming 'bout the day when you wake up and find_

_That what you're looking for has been here the whole time."_

The tenor had to shake himself a little to realize he was supposed to be helping with the back up for Kurt's chorus. The pair were still out in front, and they both grinned as they realized how electric this was. Kurt took the chorus with an energy Blaine remembered possessing during sectionals, when he was desperately trying to make Kurt smile. The boy in question was now rocking out a little, and it was adorable.

"_If you could see that I'm the one who understands you_

_Been here all along so why can't you see..._

_You belong with me..._

_You belong with me."_

Blaine smiled as Kurt used the last belong with me to point to himself in the same way he knew he'd done himself for the last _'look at me_' in Teenage Dream. They goofed around for a few bars, circling each other until Blaine came back in.

"_Walking the streets with you in your worn out jeans_

_I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be_

_Laughing on a park bench, thinking to myself_

_'Hey, isn't this easy?'"_

Kurt took another step closer, pushing his friend flirtily in the chest as he responded.

"_And you've got a smile that could light up this whole town_

_I haven't seen it in a while, since she brought you down."_

Blaine countered by grabbing his arm and spinning him, challenge in his eyes.

"_You say you're fine, I know you better than that."_

Kurt wasn't one to be outdone, he pulled his friend close and practically whispered in his ear.

"_Hey, whatcha doing with a girl like that?_"

Just when Blaine thought he might need to remember how to breathe, Kurt danced away again to repeat the bridge, more relaxed than his roommate had ever seen him in rehearsal.

"_She wears high heels, I wear sneakers,_

_She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers_

_Dreaming 'bout the day when you wake up and find_

_That what you're looking for has been here the whole time._"

They both took this chorus, letting their arms gesture as though they were fighting opposite points rather than saying the same words.

"_If you could see that I'm the one who understands you_

_Been here all along, so why can't you see..._

_You belong with me._

_Standing by, waiting at your back door._

_All this time, how could you not know, baby,_

_You belong with me_

_You belong with me"_

As the backing vocals changed Blaine fell silent, watching Kurt take it.

"_Oh, I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night._"

He had planned to stay still, but he found himself moving towards his friend when he picked up the next words.

"_I'm the one who makes you laugh when I know you're about to cry_

_I know your favorite songs and you tell me about your dreams._"

They were almost touching now, and the harmony when their voices joined on the next line was Blaine's new favorite sound.

"_I think I know where you belong, I think I know it's with me._"

A section of the Warblers joined them, and Blaine found himself resenting the intrusion.

"_Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you,_

_Been here all along so why can't you"_ - only Kurt's voice was left - "see

_You belong with me._"

Blaine picked up the rhythm again as the backing vocals resumed, giving into his instinct to grab Kurt's hand.

"_Standing by, waiting at your back door_

_All this time, how could you not know, baby,_

_You belong with me..._

_You belong with me."_

Kurt was just looking at him, making no attempt to either move his hand away or join the chorus, so the older boy decided to continue with the ending, which he'd laughed at when he first saw the music. He wasn't laughing now.

"_Oh, oh, oh...oh, oh, oh...oh, oh."_

He yanked his arm in to bring their bodies together again and gave himself permission to make the last lyric count, staring into alert blue eyes.

"_You belong with me."_

There was a spit second of complete silence and then fourteen people started talking at once. There was a clamor of excitement as everyone raved that they'd finally found an arrangement that could win them regionals, the UR guys were geniuses, and no one could possibly compete with the kind of performance their two leads had just put on.

The leads themselves were silent, as they were both thinking about the moment they'd just shared and what it meant.

Wes finally took control. "Guys! Everyone! Sit down!"

After about a minute everyone had settled onto the the couches and chairs, and Wes was behind his table with his beloved gavel. He addressed Blaine and Kurt, who were next to each other on a couch. "Guys, I think it's fair to say that was sufficiently awesome that we need to continue working on it. You agree?"

Both of them nodded dumbly.

"Good, now to the storyline idea." David gave him a warning look, but he ignored it. "If we're going to end with this, then I'd suggest a love story theme. Maybe Blaine – we might as well keep the same characters featured, although obviously the solos for the other songs will be up for grabs – saves his friend Kurt from a bad relationship, and _You Belong With Me_ is Kurt's way of returning the favor? Maybe we show Kurt's last relationship? Maybe something a little more depressing and violent as a contrast." David was looking at him in alarm now, and Blaine's eyes were getting more and more focused. Kurt looked as though he was seeing a ghost. Wes saw he was making an impact and continued, putting two and two together and making stupidity. His brain had become slightly detached from his mouth and he was concentrating on the fact that Blaine and Kurt's lips needed to be all over each other, and he needed to convince them it was necessary. "Either way, _You Belong With Me_ should end with a kiss. The audience would eat that up. Blaine and Kurt? I mean, a couple's first kiss is a surefire way to win their hearts – in the story, I mean. First kisses are practically the most important moment in a person's-"

Kurt, who by this point was so pale he looked translucent, stood up without warning and left the room. Council-leader Wes trailed off and Blaine immediately stood to go after him, stopping as he walked past the table, glaring in disgust. His voice was so low that only David and Wes could hear his next words.

"You really can be a selfish asshole sometimes, Wesley. I hope you're fucking proud of your mind games, because they sure as hell hurt someone this time." There was such contempt in his eyes and venom in his words that Wes nearly flinched. But Blaine wasn't staying. He walked out without glancing back.

"What did I -" Wes turned to David, who just shook his head, refusing to look him in the eye.

"I told you not to push it, Wes. You did, and you...you broke them."

Wes thought about it for a moment, and then belatedly realized what he'd actually said. The moment that he did he knew Blaine was right. He really was a selfish asshole.

* * *

Blaine knocked on the door. Kurt didn't even look up.

"It's your room too, Blaine."

"If you want me not to be here then I'll go."

He shrugged, still looking at the carpet. Blaine stepped in cautiously.

"I'm sorry about him."

"He didn't do anything wrong."

"He did so many things wrong that I don't even know where to start."

"No, it's me. I'm broken."

Blaine opened his mouth to argue vehemently against that, but thought better of it. Kurt didn't look ready for a fight. That wasn't what he needed right then. He sat down next to his still roommate on his bed, leaving a foot of space between them.

"Do you really believe that, Kurt?"

Blue eyes looked up in surprise at the gentle question.

"I – I don't know."

"Well, what _do_ you know?"

"I know that...the song was good. We sounded great." There was a shadow of a smile. Blaine would take it. "It was a lot of fun..it...it felt right. But then Wes started talking about violent relationships, and first kisses being important...and I – I didn't want to be there anymore. I felt dirty because of...what happened. And then I started thinking about it again, and I haven't dreamed of it in weeks, and -" His breathing was becoming ragged, and Blaine scooted closer to put a soothing hand on his back. There was silence for a few minutes, and then Kurt looked back up at his best friend. "I just thought remembering it wouldn't be this hard after – it's been months. Shouldn't it be better by now?"

Blaine chose his words carefully. "I think it is – better, I mean. But that doesn't mean it's gone, and it doesn't mean you have to be 'over it'. The attack...well, you feel about that however you feel. I was – seeing you... after...I don't think I'll ever be able to let that go. I still dream about that, you know. And then I wake up, and I see you asleep... and I know it really happened, but it's in the past again, where it belongs. And as for the kiss...you know what I think about first kisses. It only counts if you let it, and... listen, it's only going to matter with one person, in the end, and then everything before it will seem like a warm up. First doesn't mean best, and that's yet to come."

Kurt actually smiled. "I like that."

"I'm glad. And Wes should – he knows better than to – I'll deal with him. I promise. I'll - you won't have to do anything you don't want to. I'll tell him we're cutting the song or I'm walking."

Kurt looked horrified. "No! Neither of those – you can't quit and... wait, you don't want to do the song? I thought it sounded – I mean, it felt good to me. Wasn't it good?"

Kurt was looking at him like he had the answers to every goddamn question in the world, and Blaine wished fervently that it was true. But at the moment the only thing he could think was '_You're the answer_' and that didn't seem entirely suited to the occasion. _Song. Singing. Right_.

"It was a great performance, Kurt, and I know we'd rock it. But if you aren't comfortable then we'll just tell Wes to take his storyline and his harmonies and go -"

"But I want to do it! Sing with you at regionals, I mean. If _you_ want to."

He smiled. "I'd be honored."

"Do you think I should go apologize to Wes for walking out?"

Blaine worked very hard to answer calmly. "No. Because you don't owe him anything. I'll go have a word with him in a minute."

"You aren't going to hit him, are you?"

He went for honesty. "Possibly."

"Please don't."

It should be illegal for a person to be that forgiving.

Blaine saw the plea in Kurt's eyes and reluctantly agreed, curbing the protective impulses that were urging him to make Wes understand what he'd done in a way that was slightly less than friendly.

"Fine. I'm going to tell him exactly what I want to, though."

"Okay."

The older boy stood.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He smiled, and Kurt thought it might've lit up the whole town.

"Anytime. You going to be okay for a bit?"

"I'm fine."

"Come on, I know you better than that." Kurt laughed. "What?"

"Nothing." He saw a frown begin to form and amended his answer. "I'll tell you later."

Blaine gave him a look... but smiled and left.

Kurt laughed again a moment later when he realized Blaine knew all his favorite songs and they'd just been talking about their dreams.

* * *

That night they both woke up from old nightmares, not entirely sure if they were still real. But when they opened their eyes they were each met with the sight of their sleeping roommate, and so they went back to sleep remembering that the present and future could both be more powerful than the past.


	16. Facts

_A/N: __You guys. This has over 300 reviews. That is so ridiculous I don't even know what to do with myself. I feel like I should make you cookies, or buy you all pet unicorns or something._

_This chapter was a drabble that I thought would go somewhere...it didn't. But I give it to you anyway._

_So. Wes got a hard time of it last chapter, but those of you who've read other stories of mine will know that I love me some Wescapades. I can never stay mad at him for too long. That's not to say other characters can't though. Enjoy._

* * *

_Wes had learned his lesson. Really._

Well, mostly.

After the slight disaster of the Taylor Swift debacle, and the subsequent conversation that Blaine and Wes had – no one knew what had been said in that room, but Wes had been markedly polite and considerate to both Kurt and Blaine for several days afterwards, until Kurt told them both that they needed to stop it because it was weird and unsettling – Wes was trying to stay out of it. He really was.

But, damn, those two were about five hundred kinds of ridiculous.

He kind of wished there were a playback feature on life, so he could pause the expressions on each of their faces when they saw the other, or even mentioned them in passing. It was genuinely lovely. But it was also annoying as hell.

Wes liked Kurt, and considered him a good friend after only a short time. He was part of the gang almost as soon as he transferred. Even if their spy hadn't turned out to be the person that made his best friend (the three of them kind of used the term interchangably for each other. It was easier that way) happier than he – or his parents, Wes had found out – had ever seen him, Wes would have liked Kurt. He was smart, snarky, snappy, and Wes and David's new pet (they'd known Blaine would get boring eventually).

But, by an extraordinary stroke of fortune, Blaine also happened to be in love with him.

Oh, Wes doubted that Blaine had admitted it to himself just yet, but it had been mind-bogglingly obvious from the second the Katy Perry lyrics had started leaving his mouth, sounding more sincere than they had ever sounded before.

Ok, that was just where it had started, admittedly. That probably didn't count as "love". Wes could concede that. Sitting at his desk one evening (avoiding writing his history paper and slightly lost without David, who was off studying for his music theory final), Wes tried to work out at what point Blaine had actually gone from crushing on Kurt to actually writing songs and subconciously picking out the china.

He figured it was probably right after Kurt transferred. About a minute- give or take - into the countertenor's audition for a solo at sectionals. Wes had practically seen the arrow sticking out of his friend when Kurt walked away from that window. If life had been a cartoon his friends eyes would have flown out of his head as heart shapes on stalks. That audition had definitely won Kurt something, even if it wasn't a solo.

Incidentally, Wes still felt bad about that. They shouldn't have had him audition – sectionals were too close, they had most of their set list prepared, and there wasn't a song in his range already under their belts. But Blaine had looked at Wes with eyes so filled with concern and asked if they could make Kurt feel more welcome by giving him a chance, and there had been no way that he could say no. Not when his best friend in the world was begging him like that.

Kurt had put on one hell of a performance, even if the song choice was a little non-Warblery.

Yep, Wes decided. That's what had ruined Blaine for every other boy in the world.

Now, he thought, if there would just be some kissing already, lives could go on, and Wes wouldn't get smacked on the head or kicked quite as much.

* * *

Wes had no way of knowing this, but he was completely right. He knew Blaine far too well.

From the moment the dark haired boy had heard Kurt start singing _Don't Cry For Me Argentina_ it had all been over. Not that he had entirely admitted it to himself what "it" was just yet

Well, to be completely honest, it had been _slightly_ over before then, because he'd seen some (all) of Kurt's performances on youtube (some (all) more than twice. Or even ten times), and he'd heard Kurt singing or humming along to the radio...so he'd known he could sing. He'd known that Kurt had a gorgeous, distinctive voice that had clearly been deeply under appreciated by everyone else who had ever lived. Blaine and Wes had gotten him into the Warblers based solely on youtube clips and Blaine's insistence. That was unheard of. He knew Kurt was special. And he knew that Kurt was special to him.

Then Kurt sang a song from Evita, and one that Blaine had always thought was overdone and completely overrated.

And just a few lines in, when Kurt turned towards the group and sang about choosing freedom, Blaine discovered that he had been horribly mistaken. It was the greatest song ever written. How had he ever thought otherwise?

Before he had gotten his birthday present from Kurt he had been on the verge of coming up with a semi-believable reason to record Kurt's vocals to a few songs on his laptop. Maybe if he said he wanted to test out his microphone? Or would that be too obvious?

Then he'd gotten his gift, and he was certain that Kurt had absolutely no idea how much it really meant. He was in possession of Kurt's_voice._ Not in the creepy sea-shell/mermaid way, but in the way that he could turn on his ipod and listen to a crystal clear recording of Kurt singing at any time he liked.

It was his drug. He always felt kind of guilty when anyone walked in on him listening to it, because he knew that the things he was thinking as he let that voice wash over him were not things that were strictly acceptable under the rules of friendship ...never mind some of the_other_ things he thought (and did) sometimes. Those probably would have gotten him in significantly more trouble. He was a teenage boy, after all.

And Kurt was... well,_ Kurt_.

It was sometimes a little difficult to control himself. Better to let himself listen to a song for the 237th time than jump his roommate's bones.

At least, that's what he told himself. A lot.


	17. Bills

_A/N: So, this happened this afternoon, after I realized I referenced it in a later chapter without actually having written it first. Also, I had a moment yesterday when I wondered why one of my OCs hadn't been commented on, only to later realize that the chapter he appears in isn't up, and won't be for several chapters. I am clearly quite crazy._

* * *

Kurt knew that Dalton was a private school, and a pretty expensive one at that, so he understood that the students were either very wealthy, or intelligent enough to have won a full or partial scholarship (not that some the wealthy ones weren't intelligent but – well, you understand). But it still kind of shocked him sometimes when his friends and classmates talked about houses, boats, and, in some cases, islands (Ian's parents really were a little bit ridiculous) as though they were discussing having bought a meal.

Blaine was pretty quiet as far as this went – apparently his family didn't consider money that important, and he felt kind of uncomfortable talking about it – and David's family, while reasonably well off, wasn't the island buying sort, but Wes, who had never been one to think things through entirely, sometimes mentioned or bought things so casually that Kurt was a little bit floored.

Like the time Wes discovered the website where you could buy 2-foot gummy worms and ordered one for every student on their floor. Or the time he forgot which Leonardo DiCaprio movie his girlfriend had wanted for her birthday, so he bought the special edition version of all of them and had them shipped overnight. Or the time he was looking up facts for his (late) french presentation and seriously suggested that they go to Paris for the next long weekend, because he was kind of bored with going home.

Kurt had looked at him like he was insane, and Blaine had pointed out that his shiny debit card was only supposed to be used for emergencies.

Wes retorted that his parents wouldn't mind as long as he said it was educational, and anyway he had an emergency need to see if throwing things off of the Eiffel tower was as fun as it looked. He also offered to pay.

David had hit him over the head with his history text book, reminded him that his presentation was due in three hours, and instructed him to stop being a spoiled brat.

Wes had sulked for an hour and then gotten distracted by something shiny on his desk.

* * *

Blaine and Kurt had had a brief conversation about this shortly after they become friends, before Kurt transferred. The first few times that Blaine came over to Lima, and they went to lunch, Blaine would pick up the cheque, brushing off Kurt's protests. About the fourth time this had happened, Kurt felt the need to bring it up.

"I wish you wouldn't."

Blaine looked up from his phone, where he was calculating the tip with a nifty little application. "Sorry, do what?"

"Pay."

"Why not? I don't mind. You can pay some other time."

"You said that last time."

"It isn't a big deal." Blaine was beginning to look a little uncomfortable. Kurt took a deep breath.

"It is for me." He saw dark eyebrows go up. "Listen, I know my family isn't 'Dalton Rich', but I can afford to buy you lunch, you -"

"Kurt, I never meant to imply that -"

"Well, you did, inadvertently or not. And it's my turn. Please, let me do this."

They both knew it wasn't just about the money, it was also a little bit about Kurt having control in one aspect of his life when so many others were overwhelming. There was a pause and then Blaine met his eyes. He took his card off the table and slipped it back in his wallet. He bit his bottom lip for a moment, then his lips quirked into a smile.

"Thank you for lunch, Kurt."

The boy smiled back gratefully. "You're welcome."

And - just like that - the awkwardness lessened.


	18. Introductions

_A/N: Things. So many THINGS to say._

_First of all, this is another one for psychopiratess, who I was going to dedicate this to anyway, on account of the fact that she has (*drumroll*) STARTED WRITING A GLEE FIC. SHE'S BACK! And it is my entirely non-fangirl opinion that you should all go read it. It's called "If There Is Time Enough", and I love it already. So anyway, I was going to dedicate this to her anyway, but then not half an hour ago she left me (no joke) the greatest review ever on SSLWL (which I am working on the sequel to, I swear!)._

_I've had a lot of requests for this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it._

_Finally, thank you all for being ridiculously (and totally) awesome. Seriously. You guys are wonderful, and your feedback means a lot. _

* * *

Sitting down to dinner with Blaine's family was like being transported into an old movie – Bev and Hal Hamilton had developed a Tracy/Hepburn or Nick/Nora (_The Thin Man_ movies, which were amongst both Kurt and Blaine's favorites) dynamic that was both astonishing and slightly odd at first.

Beverley Hamilton was a woman who had aged gracefully – with the kind of looks that wouldn't have looked out of place in old hollywood, and streaks of grey in her dark curly hair that only added to her beauty. She was willowy, with bright green eyes that were quick to see the truth, and a demure but genuine smile that spoke of good breeding – at least until her husband or son really made her laugh, and then she came alive in a way that was nothing really to do with the joke and everything to do with love.

When Blaine, Kurt, Wes and David had arrived on her doorstep with about 20 minutes notice (the four of them had been attempting to drive to Wes' parents' cabin, but he had horribly miscalculated), huge amounts of junk food (that was mostly Wes), and every intention of eating their way through her kitchen (that was _all_ Wes), and he saw her reaction, Kurt knew that Beverley Hamilton was every bit as wonderful as he had expected, if not more so. She confiscated Wes' chips at the door, handing him an apple, kissed her son and David hello before dispatching them (well, Blaine, but David went too) to the kitchen to bring through the tea and coffee, and turned to Kurt, taking in his nervous smile.

"You must be Kurt, do come in – and please excuse the slight mess," - she gestured to the immaculate and elegant hallway - "I am so pleased to finally meet you. Let me take your coat - here, my dear." She put his coat on a rack near the door, picking up with a small smile the one that Wes had tossed in that general direction, and took Kurt's hand. Then she ushered him into the comfortable living room, settling him on the sofa before joining him. "My husband and son speak of you in such glowing terms, I feel as if I know you already. Would you like tea? "

"I'd love some, Mrs. Hamilton. Thank you for letting us stay on such short notice – you have a beautiful home."

"You're so sweet." Her grin became a little mischievous, and her eyes widened in a familiar way. "And you're also genuine, which is even more lovely. It's no trouble at all. I'm delighted with the opportunity to see Blaine, who for some reason hasn't been coming home as much as he used to...I suppose school must be more... interesting this year. And Hal and I will love having you all in the house – he should be home in a few minutes." She glanced briefly into the large mirror over over the mantlepiece, and her lips pursed. She held her finger up apologetically to Kurt to indicate a pause in the conversation and raised the volume of her voice slightly, but didn't turn around. "Wesley, if you touch those chips before dinner I will be extremely disappointed in you."

Wes, who had been trying to sneak his way over to the table in the hall, jumped, caught red-handed. Blaine and David laughed as they entered the living room through french doors at the opposite end, each carrying a tray. Blaine set his down and went to sit on the other side of his mother, while David flopped onto a large armchair near the fireplace. Wes sulked his way into the room and made himself comfortable on the other sofa.

"Feet off the coffee table, Wesley. I'll make a gentleman of you yet." Beverley's reprimand was full of affection.

"Nah. You love me just the way I am." Wes grinned, but moved his feet.

"Be that as it may, I'll love you for a lot longer if you eat more vegetables and irritate a little less." She poured tea into three cups, adding milk and sugar to two by habit before handing them to Blaine and David. She turned to Kurt.

"Sugar, darling?"

Wes spoke up. "Darling? Kurt, she loves you already. That isn't fair! It took _weeks_ for her to call _me_ darling."

Bev fixed him with a look that had probably been bestowed on a fair few arrogant young men in her day. "Perhaps if you had behaved in a slightly less aggravating manner the first time we met, my affection for you would have blossomed a little quicker."

"Hey, that vase was in the way. There was absolutely no reason to -"

"Wesley, dear, I was asking Kurt about his tea. You may have my attention in a minute."

Blaine and David, who had already been holding back laughter, grinned hugely at each other. Wes did not seem in the least bothered. He turned his attention to Kurt. "It's fine. She loves me really. I don't mind sharing."

Blaine snorted. "That's so generous of you."

"I'm a giver."

"You give _something _all right."

Beverley smoothly cut off any planned retort by turning back to Kurt. "I'm so sorry. Wesley was being attention-seeking. He can't help it, really. We must forgive and love him anyway. Did you say you took sugar?"

"No, thank you." He accepted the cup gratefully, and Bev poured a cup of coffee for Wes ("Not that you need the caffeine, dear.") before fixing one for herself. She asked Kurt about how he was liking Dalton, whether her son was helping him settle in (Wes snorted, Blaine's cushion hit him in the face, and Bev's lips quirked), and whether he'd sing for them after dinner ("I've heard such wonderful things about your voice from – Blaine, don't make that face at me, darling. If the wind changes you'll get stuck like that."). David explained, between chocolate digestive biscuits, that when they were here things tended towards the musical. Beverley smiled when she heard this.

"It's true, we -" there was the sound of a key in the door and her smile widened even further. She immediately looked ten years younger and five times more beautiful. "Ah, Blaine, your father's home. Why don't you go say hello?"

Her son was already half way to the door by the time this suggestion was given. There was a shout of delight (Hal), some laughter and murmuring (both of them), and a few moments later father and son appeared in the doorway, Hal surveying the room with undisguised delight.

"Kurt! David! Wes! Feet off the coffee table Wesley - those are first editions. I'm so glad you finally made it for dinner!"

"We're staying the night, as Wes doesn't know how to read a map." Blaine supplied this while moving to lean on the arm of the couch where Kurt was sitting.

"The little squares were confusing!"

"You had a GPS, genius."

"Yeah, well -"

"Everything worked out, because we get to see you all. Finally." Hal put his briefcase on one of the side tables and came to kiss his wife in greeting. "Hello, love. Has Wes broken anything yet?"

"No, but there's still time."

An indignant voice piped up again. "Honestly, you break _one_ vase in this house– well, two - and suddenly you're some kind of -"

"You know we're just teasing, darling." Bev had risen to pour her husband a cup of coffee and ruffled the disgruntled boy's hair affectionately. "Dinner will be ready in a couple of minutes."

Kurt looked at her incredulously. "But... we arrived ten minutes ago! With no warning! How did you..."

Beverley's husband kissed her hand gallantly as he took his drink. "Oh, she's brilliant."

Blaine smiled slightly smugly. "It's hereditary."

She smirked, and the set of her lips and the crinkle of her eyes were so like the ones that greeted him every morning that Kurt was struck slightly speechless. "I don't know how we could possibly know that, as you're my only child."

Her son's grin widened. "All that inherited wit and beauty combined into one human being."

"Really? Do let me know when you find them, dear." She sipped her tea delicately, shooting him that familiar, mischievous smile again.

David watched Kurt, who was observing this rapid exchange with amusement, and leaned over. "As you can see, in this house you either keep up or stay silent. Or, if you're Wes, chime in occasionally with half hearted attempts at intelligence."

Blaine, who was between David and Kurt, still perched on the arm of the sofa, snorted inelegantly. "Oh, yeah, that's us. Classy and intellectual to a fault. "

Hal studied his son thoughtfully. "You know, Hobbes once said that -" Wes yawed loudly and obviously. Hal frowned at him in a paternal manner. "Shouldn't you have taken over the entertainment system by now, Wes? Usually it takes about thirty seconds from the time you step through the door to get upstairs and start shooting things."

"And miss scintillating philosophical discussions like this one? Besides...dinner soon!"

"It really is astounding that you can eat the way you do and not completely cease to function as a human being."

"I'm a medical marvel."

"I suppose that's one term for it."

Beverley rose smoothly, patting he husband on the cheek. "Allow me to make him useful. Wes, darling, come help me with dinner."

Wes objected. "Shouldn't Blaine have to help too? I mean, he sort of lives here and he is related."

"Blaine will offer to help, because he remembers his manners. Honestly, next time I have lunch with your mother -"

Wes jumped up. "What can I do?"

"Come with me."

Blaine piped up as his mother reached the french doors. "Would you like any help, Mom?"

"No thank you, dear. You stay here. Don't scowl, Wesley, darling, it spoils your naturally handsome face."

David took out his phone and started texting. Then he added - "I'll go get the bags out of the car. Keys, Blaine?"

They were tossed to him and he headed out, as Blaine slid off the arm of the couch and into Kurt, who shifted into the center gap that Beverley's departure had left empty. Kurt kept reminding himself that he shouldn't be so distracted by the way his best friend's hip was wedged slightly into his side, especially as aforementioned best friend's father was sitting less than two feet away.

Except, Kurt realized, Hal wasn't there anymore. He'd picked up one of the first editions off of the coffee table and was drifting towards the door, looking distracted.

"Did you take my annotated copy of _Paradise Lost _to school with you, Blaine? This book makes for a very interesting comparison..."

The boy looked over his shoulder, stretching his arms over the back of the couch, clearly glad to be home. "No, dad. You know I hate Milton."

"Ah, yes. That must be your mother's influence. Do excuse me, Kurt, I just want to check something before dinner – we'll catch up afterwards. Remind me to show you this brilliant paper I found on Tennyson..."

Blaine grinned at Kurt as his father floated up the stairs. "I warned you. Tennyson..." He smiled fondly. "They're both completely mad. It's like living in a Noel Coward play – I didn't realize that was odd until quite late."

"They adore you. And they're fantastic. Even if they do find Wes inexplicably charming."

"He's kind of like their pet. David's less of a project, so they love him in a more normal way."

"Your mother is fabulous. I see what you meant about you being like her." He fought the urge to lean back into Blaine's arm, which was still stretched out behind him on the couch.

"She loves you already. Yeah, she's more... subtle, most of the time. Ever the trained debutante, even if she was glad to escape."

"They make a great couple." Kurt tried to find somewhere to put his hands that wasn't on his roommate's leg, and eventually settled on crossing his legs and placing them on his own knee.

"I know." Blaine was looking at him and smiling in a deeply unfair way that made it very difficult to think, and he wished, for probably the first time ever, that he had David there to tell him which smile that was and what it meant. Luckily for Kurt, Blaine, at least, seemed to be able to carry on a conversation.

"Anyway, you totally had my mother's seal of approval from your first week at school."

Now Kurt was confused. "What? How?"

"Well, I'd told them about you before, so they already knew I thought you were awesome. But when you transferred, and Wes moved in with David, you vastly improved their chances of not being irritated to death every time they called me. Have you seen what Wes is like when he wants to say hello to someone on the phone? Plus, you don't pick up my phone if I'm in the shower and imply I'm off doing drugs and being seduced by random men. I think my mother kind of appreciates the break."

"Don't worry. The drugs and random men will stay our little secret." _He thinks I'm awesome. He told his parents about me before I'd even transferred. _That, combined with the fact that he and his best friend were sitting in an elegant but comfortable living room, with the soothing hum of Wes and Beverley bickering floating through from the other side of the house, was enough to make Kurt feel contented. It was warm in the house, so Blaine's cheeks were slightly flushed, and he was laughing at whatever Kurt had just said, so whatever it was must have been funny, and Kurt felt like he never wanted to leave this spot ever again. He leaned back experimentally so that his friend's arm brushed his neck, and Blaine didn't move it, instead wrapping his arm around Kurt's shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. He leaned their heads together so they touched, and Kurt could feel the vibrations through his entire upper body when his friend eventually spoke.

"I'm glad you're here... I'm glad Wes can't navigate to save his life."

"Me too."

They stayed there for a moment, warm and together, and then Kurt's attention shifted to the pile of books on the table. He leaned forward to pick one up.

"_The Princess Bride_ was a book?"

"It's one of my favorites. You should read it – it's great. Goldman is brilliant."

"Did you ever read _The Silent Gondoliers_?" Hal had wandered back into the room, and was flicking through the pages of another book distractedly.

"Not yet, Dad. You can borrow that, Kurt. It's mine."

"You really should, it's excellent. Kurt, do you know an author by the name of Reiner?"

"Um...no, sorry sir."

Hal tossed the book onto a side table with a sigh. "You aren't missing much. And please don't make me feel old."

"Right, sorry."

"I'll probably forgive you. You two should take some more books with you... the Dalton library isn't nearly as well-stocked with fiction as it should be. Blaine, why don't you show him our little library?"

Blaine raised an eyebrow at Kurt questioningly. When he got a nod he took his friend's hand, bounding out of the room. "Dad, did you ever get that ladder replaced?"

They were half way up the stairs by the time they got a response. "No, damn! Knew I forgot something..."

His son rolled his eyes. "It's a good thing he only puts the books he doesn't like on the top shelves. Come on."

They weren't holding hands anymore by the time they got upstairs, but Kurt was almost too distracted to notice. Every stereotypical bone in his body was admiring the tasteful hallway, with dark wooden doors leading off of it, some open, some closed. Blaine paused about three doors down, where a sliver of light was made visible by the door having been left ajar, and gestured for Kurt to go inside. So he did. Then he gasped.

The room wasn't large in the sense of the libraries in _My Fair Lady_ or _Beauty and the Beast_. Blaine didn't _actually_ live in a palace. It was only about twice the size of an ordinary master bedroom, but there were stuffed bookcases against every wall, piles of books on the floor, on chairs, and next to a comfortable looking couch (deep mahogany, like the bookcases) where Blaine had settled himself to watch Kurt's reaction.

I say it wasn't large, but the room did have a step in the middle, leading to the second alcove, and more books by a large window. Normal sized rooms, Kurt remembered, did not generally have two levels.

"My father," Blaine said with a grin, deciding that Kurt was a little too distracted to talk, "likes books."

Kurt gave him a look. Just like Blaine had smiles, Kurt had looks. This was the 'stop-your-sass-I-am-admiring-the-scenery' look.

"Usually," Blaine offered, "it's tidier than this. Not quite so mad-literature-professor. Although I suppose it is appropriate."

"No wonder you've always read the required texts for class."

Blaine shrugged. "I read a lot before I went to Dalton. Still do, I guess, but now it's just because I like it."

Kurt didn't ask why he'd read before Dalton. He kind of thought he knew. It was the same reason he'd gotten so involved in glee, and clothes, and broadway musicals. It was probably the same reason that his roommate played every instrument Kurt could think of, and several he never even knew existed.

He could see Blaine here then, lying on the couch, just as he was now, wondering if his middle school and early high school experiences were really all there was, or if there was something better, like in so many of the books he read.

Kurt just nodded, and a flash of understanding passed between them.

His friend jumped up. "Well, if it's my responsibility to protect you from my dad's disappointment, we'd better start over here." He headed over to the nearest shelf, where the books looked most used, and took out a paperback. "_Oliver Twist_?"

"I've read it."

"Oh, good. And you told Dad you've read _Curiosity Shop_ and _Great Expectations_. I have Christmas Carol at school. _Bleak House _is depressing..." Kurt took a moment to enjoy the fact that Blaine remembered an idle comment he'd made several weeks ago. "Then we can graduate you to Hugo. _Les Miserables_?"

Kurt nodded and Blaine handed him the book, practically leaping over a large pile of books to get to another shelf. "I recommend only one more, otherwise he'll talk through all of dinner. What're you in the mood for? Sci-fi?" - he gestured to one shelf with a robotic arm movement - "Adventure?" - he leapt over another pile of books to lean against a broken wooden ladder dramatically - "Romance?" - he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Kurt laughed. He didn't think he'd seen Blaine this relaxed since... well, _ever_. The sparkle was brighter than ever... The closest he remembered getting was during late night Disney marathons in their room, where they'd fight over which princess was best, which prince was the most perfect, and which villain was the most evil (Kurt went Jasmine-Belle tie/Eric/Jafar, Blaine stuck by Ariel-Belle tie/Post-transformation Beast (although he stipulated the need for a haircut)/Ursula). It was really wonderful to see.

"I don't know, what's your favorite?"

Blaine considered this. "I don't know... give me a minute. Hang on, let's go look at the shelves in my room and -"

"There's _more_?"

Blaine chuckled. "These are mostly my dad's. Mine are in my room, down the hall. Shall we-"

He was cut off by his phone chirping. He pulled it out of the pocket of his jeans and rolled his eyes. "Dinner is ready." He raised his voice and approached the door to yell down the stairs. "YOU KNOW, WES, THIS HOUSE ISN'T SO BIG THAT YOU CAN'T WALK UP A FLIGHT OF STAIRS!"

A reply came back instantly. "I DIDN'T WANT TO INTERRUPT YOU AND KURT MAKING – OW! What was that for? Not nice!"

"Darling," Beverley's voice floated up. "Dinner's ready when you are!"

Blaine looked over at Kurt. "Shall we?"

"Let's."

Blaine gallantly offered his arm, which Kurt took, and they went downstairs to the kitchen. There they found Wes rubbing the side of his head sheepishly and Beverley spooning out hot, delicious smelling vegetable soup, while David snuck slivers of lasagna out of a large dish. Hal was cutting french bread into strips and trying to get Wes' attention to ask him to take the salad through to the table. Blaine grabbed the bowl automatically and went through to the dining room, and Kurt smiled.

He liked it here.

* * *

After dinner, Hal volunteered himself (and Blaine) to do the dishes. A well placed elbow to the ribs from David had helped remind Wes to offer his help, but Hal let both of them disappear quietly upstairs after they helped clear the table, waved aside Kurt's offer of help, and poured his wife a glass of wine before sending her through to the living room to relax. Beverley turned to Kurt with a smile.

"Would you like to join me, dear? Blaine, darling, pour Kurt some more sparkling cider."

Her son, who had been clearing the bottle, refilled the glass. Kurt smiled his thanks, and Blaine winked. Kurt noted that Blaine should wear green more often, as the T-shirt he had on definitely brought out his eyes.

There were four framed photographs on the mantlepiece – Kurt hadn't really looked at them before, but as he chatted easily to Beverley about school, theater, and where he'd gotten his fantastic scarf from, he was drawn to them. One was Blaine's recent Dalton photo, the same one Kurt had hung in his locker at McKinley. Another was obviously from Hal and Beverley's wedding, but it wasn't the traditional couple portrait. It was at a table in a hall, and Beverley was crossing to take a seat, smiling beautifully at her husband, who was leaning over the chair a little to kiss her hand gallantly. Beverley looked like she was glowing, and Hal looked like he was utterly bewitched. The next picture was of Hal and Beverley with a young Blaine, and father and son were sitting on the couch in the library that Kurt had just been perusing. An eight year old Blaine (at a guess) and his father were both laughing, and Beverley was leaning over the back of the couch to look at the book, casually resting her chin on her husband's head.

The last was an older photo. In what looked like a hotel lobby a young Beverley – she couldn't have been much older than her son was now – had her head turned up and was smiling at a boy standing with her who looked like her, but with the short unruly curls that Kurt saw tousled when he woke every day. The boy looked like Blaine might have without his father's nose or eye color. And this not-quite-Blaine was smiling down at the young girl fondly, holding a rose between his teeth and straightening his crooked bow tie to make her laugh. Kurt stopped at that picture, looking at it for a few long moments. A smooth voice came from next to him.

"That was taken a long time ago." Beverley was right next to him, sipping delicately from her glass.

"You both look lovely."

"Thank you, my darling. As I said, it was an age ago...at a debutante ball."

"Your brother?"

"Alaister, yes."

"He looks like fun."

Beverley's face brightened with memory, but there was a tinge of sadness. "Oh, he was."

Kurt didn't miss the past tense and wondered what he could say. Beverley saw the conflict in his face and pulled him back over to the couch. "Unfortunately Alaister is no longer with us." She saw Kurt open his mouth to apologize. "My darling, please don't feel sorry on my account. He made his choices years ago, and now I have Hal, and Blaine, and David, and even Wesley when he doesn't make me want to strangle him. And now, I hope, you. You're all so very alive and amusing. My brother was just born in a time that didn't suit him. Or rather, he felt he didn't suit it."

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Hamilton."

"Don't be, dear. Now, has Blaine fixed you up with some approved reading to take back to school? Don't let the two of them go overboard, or you'll end up lugging a suitcase of books back to Dalton with you."

"A suitcase! That's not a bad idea. Blaine, do you know where we'd have a suitcase?"

Blaine rolled his eyes at his father, who had strolled through the door ahead of him, and flopped into an armchair. "I think we'll be fine, Dad."

"Are you all sleeping in your room tonight, or do you want to take over the den? Or one of the guest rooms? I got some extra blankets out – I know Wes enjoys making his pillow forts." His mother managed to keep a remarkably straight face as she asked this.

"Wes and David will be in a video game coma until about 2 o'clock in the morning." Blaine explained this to Kurt with an air of resignation. "We should probably check on them every hour or so, but they'll occasionally surface for snacks."

"Has anyone Wes-proofed the kitchen?" Kurt was familiar with semi-comatose, hungry Wes, and it generally wasn't pretty.

Hal jumped up as though he'd been shocked. "You're right, Kurt. I'd better go hide some of the licorice. Want a piece, Blaine?" His son nodded.

"Put it behind the carrots," Beverley advised. "So, Blaine, the den, then?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Kurt, has he given you an actual tour, yet?"

Blaine jumped to his own defense. "I was going to, Mom, and then dinner was ready. We went to the library..."  
"Well, why don't you show him around properly?"

Blaine looked over at Kurt with a lazy grin. "Wanna?"

It was impossible for Kurt to respond to that smile with anything but one of his own."Sure."

Blaine leapt up, just as Hal came back into the room and handed him a piece of licorice, which he immediately began chewing. Kurt and Beverley both declined similar offers, and indulgently watched the pair demolish a few pieces before Blaine seemed to remember himself.

"Sorry, Kurt" he apologized, through a mouthful of sugar. "This way."

Kurt followed him out of the room, and as he turned the corner and glanced back he saw Beverley laughing with relaxed abandon as her husband offered her the other end of the licorice, _Lady and the Tramp_-style.

_'Yep_,' he thought, '_some things are definitely hereditary_.'


	19. Introductions II

"Blaine, can I ask you something?"

The dark haired boy paused in his search for a suitable CD, flipping through the large album, and looked up from where he sat, cross-legged on his four poster bed. He looked surprised by the question.

"What on earth would make you think the answer to that would be no?"

"Well... nothing. I just wondered. It's kind of..." he trailed off.

"Ah." Blaine nodded sagely. "I thought this might come up eventually. You see, Kurt, when two people love each other very much, or are very drunk -"

Kurt threw a pillow at him and adjusted himself so he was leaning back onto his forearms. "You're hilarious. Wes must be rubbing off on you."

"Don't say that... but I try. Ah!" He held up Spice World. "Can't mess with the classics." He saw Kurt's expression (which had nothing to do with his music choice) and slid it back into the sleeve. "What's up?"

"Well, I was just wondering... I was talking to your mom earlier..."

A flash of apprehension crossed his face. "Yeah... what did she say?"

"Well, I was looking at the pictures in the living room..."

Something very like relief filled his features. "Is this about to become a story about my baby pictures? Because I will maintain until my death that I was forced into that lobster costume against my will."

Kurt smiled, making a mental note to ask Beverley about that later. "No... there was one of your mom and her brother – Alaister? She told me he – she told me he died, and that – well, I was just wondering..."

Blaine's eyebrows has shot up at Alaister's name. "She told you that? Wow. You've been here for what, hours? ...and she's already telling you about..." He smiled. " She does like you." He saw Kurt's face and hastened to correct himself. "Not that I didn't know she would, it's just...usually she doesn't talk about him with other people... at first."

"Well, I kind of pushed her into it, I mean, I asked -"

Blaine smiled at that. "Kurt, no one pushes my mother into anything."

"If it's too personal then forget I mentioned it -"

"No, it's not a secret. It's just..." he closed the CD case and set it aside, pausing as though to choose his words carefully. "Alaister – my uncle - he killed himself."

Kurt's eyes widened at the bluntness. Blaine was looking at him closely, but, seeing only surprise and regret, continued.

"Shortly after that picture downstairs was taken, actually. My mom was seventeen, he was twenty."

"So...that's what she meant by him making his choices a long time ago..." Kurt was starting to fit the pieces together, and he had an inkling of where this was going.

"Yeah." Blaine was resting his chin on a pajama clad knee, arms looped over his leg. "He was away at college, and... well, I guess one of his friends said a little too much about him – I mean, who he was - to the wrong person, and... well, mom reckons it got bad." He cleared his throat. "I mean, it must've been... for him to..."

"He was gay?"

Kurt knew the answer even before Blaine nodded.

"Yeah. I mean...not openly. Not then, not in the circles their family travelled in. But...yeah. She says she always knew, even before he told her. He didn't really tell anyone else, but some of his friends knew. And their parents – my grandparents – must have suspected, because they kept trying to fix him up with debutantes. Her mom wasn't American born, so when she married into the family she tried desperately to make everything fit in with what was expected of them. Including him. And apparently his – their - father made...comments."

"I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't be prying."

"She wouldn't have talked about him if she hadn't wanted you to know."

"Is that why you transferred to Dalton? Because of..."

Blaine shrugged slightly. "Partly. She definitely freaked when she finally found out. And she was furious that I'd kept it from them for so long. It had been getting worse for months before I finally stopped being able to hide it."

Kurt unconsciously played with the edge of his t-shirt's sleeve, knowing that there were still faint bruises of his own underneath, even after months away from McKinley.

Blaine hesitated. "She knows why you transferred, too. I hope you don't mind. I kind of talk to them a lot."

He found he didn't. "I'm glad. She's... I'm glad you had them. I mean, I'm sorry that your uncle – I'm sorry that he went through that and... But you – you had people around you who cared. I'm glad about that."

"So do you. A small army of them. I was fairly certain when I was in that waiting room all those months ago that Rachel was going to talk the doctors to death if she didn't get answers. And you should have heard the interrogation I got." He raised his eyebrows in mock alarm. "Santana is _scary_ when she's worried."

A smile. "I know."

A pause.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything. Just... being there. For the whole thing."

"Kurt, it -" He stopped and thought for a moment, before continuing. "You're welcome," he said simply. "Anytime. Forever."

Another pause. The both started a little at Blaine's use of the word forever, which he seemed to have done without thinking. They watched each other carefully. Then the older boy flopped onto his pillows pensively.

"Hey, Kurt?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Same thing."

"Oh, but I wasn't there for-" he let his argument trail away at the look Blaine gave him. "You're welcome."

The quick smile they exchanged spoke of trust and safety.

"Want to watch a movie until Wes and David resurface?" Blaine nodded towards the hallway, where the video game's soundtrack could be heard from down the hall.

"Sure."

Blaine rolled off the bed and walked over to the center bookcase on the opposite wall, which looked like it was an illustration from a children's book. In fact, his entire bedroom could have easily been taken from fiction. The prominent features seemed to be, as Kurt had come to expect in this house, books. Two walls of the room had been covered by large oak bookcases, which were stuffed to the brim with photographs, music, DVDs, and notebooks, as well as an unbelievable number of paper and hardbacks. One of the walls had it's line of shelves broken by a large window (now with a curtain pulled across it, as it was dark outside), which looked out over the garden, and Kurt had worked very hard to not get distracted at the thought of his friend growing up, curled up on the couch there writing, reading, playing, or just watching the world pass by.

Blaine skimmed past the shelves full of music and books and walked straight to the corner, where he started pulling out movies.

"What're you in the mood for? Contemporary? Classics? Black and white?" He waved a box set of Tracey/Hepburn movies to illustrate. Kurt jumped up to join him.

"Actually, your parents made me think of... do you have... ah, here." He pulled a case of the shelf, noticing as he did that they were organized alphabetically and by genre. He nearly rolled his eyes at the Blaine-ness of it. The boy couldn't put his keys in the same place two days in a row, or find his french textbook for weeks at a time, but alphabetized his DVDs at home. His eyes flicked to the framed photographs on one particular shelf, the focal point of the room, right next to the guitar stand. There was one of Blaine and his parents, similar to the one on the mantlepiece downstairs. There was a recent snap of just him and his father, looking at each other in the doorway of some large building or another- it might have even been at Dalton. An older one showed him with his mother, a young Blaine resting his tired head on a loving Beverley's shoulder. A couple of pictures that must have been taken within the last year or so featured Wes and David, who, in one of them in particular, looked like they were trying to smother Blaine to death with affection. He was wearing a smile that was about five percent annoyance, ninety-five percent reluctant indulgence. Kurt realized that he'd seen copies of those prints on his roommate's wall. The end photo, which he knew the exact date of, made him smile. It had been taken a few days after Kurt had moved into Dalton, and Wes had been playing with his new digital camera in Blaine and Kurt's dorm room. He'd been irritating them ceaselessly for hours to pose for a picture for him because he "wanted to see if there was a limit to how much cuteness can be captured in pixels", and finally they had agreed... primarily motivated by sheer annoyance. Blaine, into his fourth cup of coffee that evening, had jumped off his bed with a little too much energy, and had accidentally knocked Kurt off his own bed and onto the floor, causing Pavarotti to chirp manically. Blaine had apologized profusely, blushing slightly (while grinning crookedly), and helped him up, and they'd both laughed, leaning into each other, hands still connected as they sat down on the bed, thinking that this new roommate thing might work out well after all. And Wes had snapped that moment, just them looking at each other with hope and casually restrained excitement. And it may or may not have been on the shortlist for Kurt's favorite pictures ever. It was even possible that it might be printed out somewhere in his room at his parent's house. And Blaine had it in his room. Framed. Which, Kurt reflected, was nice to know.

Speaking of Blaine, movie choice. The dark haired boy was checking out the DVD Kurt had picked. Right.

"What did you – ah, _The Thin Man_. They'd like that comparison a lot. Good call." The older boy turned to put the DVD in, and Kurt settled himself on the end of the bed, grabbing himself a cushion, as well as one for Blaine.

"Darlings, I think I'm going to – oh, are you watching a movie? How lovely."

Blaine glanced over at the doorway, where his mother had just appeared. He flashed the DVD case at her with a grin as Kurt waved awkwardly.

The limited light in the doorway made it more obvious as she stepped into the room that Beverley was gorgeous, and showed off the beautiful (but not always noticeable) ethnic mix that her Filipino mother was responsible for. While downstairs, and most of shared areas of the house, were decorated in creams and lighter pastels, Blaine had opted for reds and maroons, which, combined with the wooden furnishings that seemed to be a theme in the Hamilton household, gave the room a muted glow that brought out both Bev and her son's more exotic features. There was something striking about her (as there was with him), and if her face weren't so soft Kurt could have seen her cast as the beautiful, remote heiress in an old movie. But she was smiling hugely, so 'remote' could immediately be discounted from her description.

"Oh, I do love that movie. I always fancied myself a little like Myra Loy. I suppose watching it so many times when you were young was bound to make a fan of you."

"Actually, Kurt picked it. He said that you and Dad reminded him of them."

"Did he?" Kurt was bathed in her beautiful beaming smile. "How lovely." She looked back at her son thoughtfully. "Can I keep him?"

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You should ask him."

"Kurt, I'd like you to stay. Your family can have Blaine, if they like. He cooks well and he's quite good with music."

Blaine pouted slightly. "Quite good? Are those my only selling points?"

"Don't whine, dear, you'll decrease your bartering value."

He shook his head tragically. "Fickle, mother dearest. Very fickle. Watch it, Kurt, she'll tire of you in about seventeen years and trade you in for a more amusing model."

Kurt could not stop smiling as he watched this exchange.

"Well, enjoy your movie, boys."

Her son looked slightly surprised. "You don't want to stay?"

"Not tonight. I'm going to check on Wes and David – see if I can get them to drink a glass of milk, fulfill my maternal duties by forcing grapes on them – and then I thought I might go to bed. The den's all set up, though the other two will probably just doze off in front of their beloved games console, so if you two fell asleep here I suppose it wouldn't matter. I can bring some extra blankets in, if you like. There's hot chocolate in the pantry, you know. Blaine, did you ask Kurt if he wanted to -"

"Goodnight, Mom." Blaine was giving his mother a look that Kurt couldn't quite translate, although it was definitely along the lines of 'stop-talking-now-before-you-embarrass-me-beyond-redemption'.

"Ah, yes, darling." Beverley winked at Kurt, then floated in to kiss first her son, then his friend goodnight. "Those pajamas are divine, Kurt?"

"Thank you, m'am. Goodnight. And thank you again for letting us invade your home with no warning."

She waved a hand dismissively. " You're always welcome. I get lethargic when I don't have you all around. And please, call me anything you like except 'm'am'. My mother was always 'm'am'. It makes me feel remote and stand-offish. Goodnight, my loves." If he hadn't known better Kurt would have sworn she accompanied her next words with another wink as she left. "Sleep well..."

Blaine shrugged in what was either apology or embarrassment, or possibly a mixture of both, as he jumped up on the bed and grabbed his pillow, pointing the remote at the TV. "Shall we?"

"Please." Kurt settled himself comfortably next to his friend and they entered a world of intrigue, means, intelligent banter, and witty innuendo, which, Kurt realized, wasn't entirely unlike the world his friend seemed to have grown up in.

They did end up falling asleep there, although not in the way that had made both Kurt and Blaine blush when Beverley had suggested it. At around 2:30 in the morning Wes and David had finally called it a night and joined them in Blaine's ridiculously large bed ('What a waste,' Wes lamented. 'You and Kurt were in here alone for four hours in _this_ room and you just watched movies? Blaine, have I tau -' His complaint was cut short by a large pillow, which knocked him off the bed.), where by this point they had moved onto _Charade_, starring the beautiful Audrey Hepburn (the only woman, Kurt maintained, that he could see himself going straight for. Wes had coughed 'lumberjack' in what he believed was a subtle manner, which caused him to mysteriously fall off the bed again). At some point during this they all raided Blaine's pillows and blankets. This meant that by an hour into the movie they were all curled up and at least partially asleep. Wes and David had passed out near the headboard, leaning their heads together in an adorable way that Blaine had to take a picture of on his cellphone before he fell asleep, just for future reference during arguments when their questionable bromance came up. Kurt and Blaine were both at the foot of the bed, sharing a large pillow at the center but spread out in opposite directions. In fact, at one point during the night Kurt opened his eyes to find his sleeping best friend's lips inches from his, and he snapped them quickly shut again, turning over after a few deep breaths, completely unaware that Blaine had experienced the exact same thing half an hour earlier, had turned away in a similar manner, and had turned back over again in his sleep. Kurt's last thoughts as he drifted off again were of smiles, and old movies, and the fact that 'darling' and 'dear', which he had usually found patronizing as terms of endearment (his mother and Carole had been/were the sole exceptions to this rule), were actually lovely if said with the right level of affection. And as he entered into a wonderful dream he wondered if those words would sound as beautiful as his name already did on an entirely different, but related, set of lips.

* * *

_A/N:We are approaching 400 reviews on this, which is so ridiculously awesome I can't quite deal with it. I want to thank you all for reading and letting me know what you're thinking._


	20. Labels

_[A/N: So, over break EternalTearsofBlood (whose pen name makes we want to make cookies and say everything will be fine) messaged me with the news that apparently Blaine's official name has been announced as Blaine Anderson. Which really only annoyed me because that was one of the two names I finally narrowed it down to. But I like the names Hal Hamilton/Blaine Hamilton far too much to retcon them now (plus that would be upsetting and creatively wrong, I think), so I wrote this. It actually kind of made sense to me when I was doing it, so I hope it doesn't just come across as excuses, but also seems to support the narrative as a whole, and contribute something.]_

* * *

"Blaine, you have mail – oh, they got your name wrong on these. Weird. You should probably get that fixed." Kurt tossed a few envelopes onto his roommate's bed casually, causing the boy to look up from his Latin text book.

"What does it say?"

"It's addressed to Blaine Anderson."

"Oh, no... that's right." He went back to studying. Kurt blinked at him in a confused fashion.

"But... your last name is Hamilton."

"Well, yes. Kind of."

"What do you mean, kind of?"

Blaine sighed at closed his text book with the air of someone who had conversed on this subject many times before.

"Hamilton is Dad's last name. It's on my birth certificate. Anderson is my mother's maiden name – Well, part of it anyway. Her family liked hyphens."

"So why is your..."

Blaine took in a breath and began his spiel. "When I tried to transfer Dalton didn't want to take me originally – a mid semester transfer hadn't been allowed in years... my parents had to pull strings. And my mother figured it would be easier to pull her strings if she could point out that it was for the grandson of Avery Anderson-Ford-Roberts. So they legally switched my name. As far as school is concerned I'm Blaine Hamilton Anderson, so in school related papers and events that's how I'm usually listed."

Kurt opened his mouth, but Blaine had been here before. He held up his hand and continued.

"In life? I answer and introduce myself as either, depending on my mood, or what will be easier. Just don't tell Wes about Hamilton Anderson being the legal order – he's still working his way through 'D' trying to guess my middle name. My favorite was D'Arcy. Though D'Artagnan had a nice ring to it. "

"But all the teachers call you 'Mr. Hamilton'..."

"Some do. Mostly the ones that've met my father. Others don't. Mr. Scott, for example, calls me 'Blaine Anderson, grandson of the legacy'. It gets old fairly quickly. Hence my dropping Advanced Business Theory in the first week."  
"I can't believe I didn't know that."

Blaine Whatever-his-real-name-was shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

"Telling Kurt about your secret identity?" David had appeared at the door, closely followed (as usual) by Wes. It was pretty eerie how they did that.

"Do you two ever actually go anywhere separately?"

"Not if we can help it." Wes leaned against the door laconically. "David and I think Blaine should use his secret identity to save people and stuff."

"Unfortunately he selfishly doesn't listen to us, and only uses it to occasionally confuse the administration or mail carriers."

"I personally think he should correct people whenever he sees them for the second time. 'Why, so nice to see you Mr. Anderson.' 'Actually, it's Hamilton.' 'So good to meet you again, Mr. Hamilton.' 'Actually, the name's Anderson.' Come on, it would be gold."

Blaine shot them a look. "I'm sorry my life isn't more like a bad spy parody."

"As you should be, Blaine Darren Hamilton." Wes nodded, satisfied.

"Sorry, try again."

"I hate you." An annoyed Wes and David seemed to evaporate into the hallway, apparently having reached their mandatory irritant quota for the evening.

"Why is Latin so much easier than French?"

Kurt started from his thoughts. "Because you have an irrational dislike of the French language?"

"There is nothing irrational about it. It is evil."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Whenever I say that about Pre-calculus you get annoyed."

"That's because math is logical. I like math. You just haven't grown to fully appreciate its beauty yet."

"I'll be sure to let you know when that happens, Blaine Anderson." He narrowed his eyes. "...if that is your real name."

Blaine threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Not you too! When Wes and David found out they spent a week trying to pass me coded messages in the hallways. It's just a name, for crying out loud. A rose by any other word..."

"I cannot believe I've been living with a guy for months and I didn't even know his name..." Kurt shook his head sadly.

Blaine scowled. "You are all ridiculous." He threw the mail onto his dresser with unnecessary force. "Call me whatever you like. Anderson, Hamilton... whatever. It shouldn't matter. I'm still me." He mumbled for a few seconds and Kurt caught the words 'matter who my family is.' The younger boy grew serious immediately.

"Hey, I was just kidding." His roommate nodded, but didn't look up from the book he'd buried his nose in.. "Blaine, you know I don't care who – _Blaine._ Don't sulk."

"I'm not sulking," Blaine sulked.

"Please. I _invented_ that brand of pout. I was five, and my father told me I could only have one of the sparkly evening gowns for my doll, not both."

The dark haired boy couldn't help but crack a small smile at that image, though he tried to hide it. Kurt took this as a small victory. "You know I don't care what your name is any more than you care what tax bracket my family's in. And Wes and David only care insofar as they need to know how to forge your signature convincingly on incriminating documents."

Blaine was finding it really hard to stay annoyed, and Kurt could see it.

"Blaine... I'm really sorry. Don't be mad. Not about that. It's just you and me. Blaine and Kurt. You want to watch _The Little Mermaid_? We'll sing along."

He was softening.

"I'll bring you some of Carole's shortbread next time I go home... I may even make chocolate chip cookies this week and let you have first dibs..."

Blaine looked over suspiciously, but Kurt had won and he knew it. "You won't tell Wes and David?"

"They'll only get what you don't want."

The senior threw his textbook aside with unnatural speed. "Okay. You're forgiven."

Now it was Kurt's turn to narrow his eyes in suspicion. "Were you just angling for baked goods this entire time?"

His roommate shrugged. "Maybe. Not really... I - I'm not usually that touchy about my name – I don't really care – except when someone makes a big deal out of who my family was. I just feel like... it shouldn't matter. That's why I mostly just introduce myself as Blaine Hamilton to people, unless I'm feeling horrendously insecure or they know me as Anderson. It's easier."

Kurt snorted. "Horrendously insecure? You?" He walked over to pick out the movie with a sardonically raised eyebrow.

Blaine watched him. "You'd be surprised. I used to be a lot less confident and filled with wisdom than I am now."

"Oh, forgive me, wise one."

"You're forgiven, grasshopper." Blaine patted the bed next to him and slid the DVD Kurt handed him into his laptop. "I'm singing Sebastian. You can join in, though." He thought for a moment. "Actually, let's sing it all together."

Kurt nodded and made himself comfortable. "I wouldn't have it any other way."


	21. Homes

_[A/N: Why, hello! Shall we have a flashback chapter? Oh, I think we shall. Apologies for the delay, I've been working on future chapters of this (and I think I can safely say that there is fun and excitement coming up, wouldn't you agree psychopiratess? - Go love her, friends, because she has unlimited patience for me sending huge numbers of pages to her to read, and gives me wonderful feedback and lovely conversation. And her latest fic is magnificent) as well as the sequel to SSLWL. Yeah. It is happening. Slowly. And some one-shots too, possibly. And maybe another series or two? We shall see._

_This is another chapter for I_Spiked_The_Ice_Cream, because I find it endlessly amusing that she keeps asking for more. And also, if they're willing to share, for Lemonade_Mouth, whose epilogue to her latest story is so epically lovely it had been open on my desktop since it was posted days ago, waiting for an adequate review._

_So I hope you all enjoy, and let me know your thoughts!]_

* * *

Kurt didn't feel at home at Dalton from the moment he stepped through the doors.

He felt safer, yes.

Intellectually challenged? Definitely.

But _home_? Not so much.

It wasn't the people that were the problem, if you could call it a 'problem'– not really. Not in the way it had been at McKinley.

It just felt like, sometimes, when he was sitting with his new classmates, or hanging out with Wes, David, and Blaine (who seemed to have adopted him as their own), like he was a kid at the adult's table, listening to conversations about people and events he had no knowledge of.

Kurt knew he was intelligent. He was now in an academically stimulating environment, with people who were at or above his intellectual level, and actually cared about him – not that his New Directions friends didn't, but there was a whole school of people at Dalton who would, hopefully, object to seeing him pushed into a locker, or at least offer to help him up, even without knowing him. Wes and David were fun, even if Wes did become slightly crazed every time anyone gave him a gavel. He genuinely liked the other Warblers, and his classmates. He was safe. And he was glad. He was especially glad he was rooming with someone he was actually becoming pretty close to, and who had really gorgeous eyes, especially when he smiled.

_Wait_, Kurt thought. _Strike that last bit. Where did that come from?_

But anyway. He was happy. He was. It was just...

The problem was, he reflected, sitting in Wes and David's room one night, about a week after he transferred, with both boys, Blaine, Rich, Ian, and another Warbler he couldn't quite remember the name of (D-something? Daniel? No, wait, it was Ben. Ben Folds. Because Kurt had made a joke about him being the luckiest, Ben had rolled his eyes, Blaine had chuckled, and everyone else had just looked confused), that _they_ had all been here, together, for years. Kurt had been there for a week, plus a few visits. The shorthand they had developed, the inside jokes they shared... he didn't know any of them.

They weren't doing it on purpose, he knew, and if he asked he was sure they'd explain whatever it was he couldn't follow.

But he just didn't feel like being the seventh wheel on this conversation they were having for _another_ hour, so when Wes started referencing a story about his girlfriend ("Hey, Blaine, remember that time you walked in on -") and he didn't need to finish the sentence, because everyone was already laughing, Kurt left his spot sitting by the door and wandered down the hall, feeling slightly lonely.

And as he did he wondered, uniform aside, if being lonely, but safe, at Dalton was _that _much better than being part of a group, but scared, at McKinley.

* * *

"Hey, where'd Kurt go?"

Blaine snapped his head around so quickly at Ian's question that he winced.

"Probably back to his and Blaine's room," David shrugged.

Blaine looked at Rich, who had been facing the door. "When did he leave?"

Rich was texting his girlfriend and seemed a little distracted. Blaine tried very hard not to be annoyed.

"I dunno. Few minutes? Half hour, maybe?"

Wes was carefully watching the look on Blaine's face. Before his best friend did something drastic, like take Rich's shiny phone and beat him to death with it, Wes cut in.

"Maybe you should go check he didn't get lost," he suggested. "It's getting close to curfew, and if he's downstairs, well... he doesn't know his way around yet."

Blaine looked immeasurably relieved that someone else had said this. He, like the rest of them, had just kind of assumed that Kurt was being quiet. He hadn't really been that vocal since he'd transferred. "Yeah, okay. I'll go. See you guys later." He headed out the door with unholy haste.

Rich looked up from his phone to stare with amusement as their friend practically walked into the wall opposite the door, craning his neck to look down the hallway. There was a collective snort.

"Shut up," Blaine muttered, rubbing his neck as he disappeared out of sight.

"Ah... young love!" Wes sighed dramatically as he broke out the gummy stash.

* * *

Blaine checked their room. No Kurt. He checked the common rooms, even the junior one, which, at least to his knowledge, Kurt hadn't been in yet, because he was always hanging out in the senior commons with them, and found them deserted... apart from a few people studying. He checked the kitchens, the entrance hall, most of the hallways, an entire wing of the classrooms, and was just going back to get his phone, which he had left on Wes' bed, when he realized that he was an idiot.

He hadn't checked the choir room.

The Dalton choir room also doubled as the music classroom, which is why the Warblers didn't hold practice there very often. But it had been the place where, when Blaine gave him an unofficial tour, Kurt's eyes had lit up the most. Because there was a gorgeous grand piano in there, and shelves with enough sheet music to paper a significant portion of the school. Blaine would know. He spent his first few weeks at Dalton holed up in there, until Wes and David (who he hadn't known nearly as well as he did now) had bodily dragged him outside.

Surely enough, when he had rounded the corner and quietly opened the door he saw Kurt sitting there, at the piano. His hands were on the keys, but he wasn't playing. Instead, his forehead was resting on the sheet music, and he looked so tired, so alone, so... broken, that Blaine thought he might actually cry.

He wanted to fix it, whatever was making Kurt look like that.

He wanted to punch whoever had caused it, and hug Kurt mercilessly until he smiled again.

"Hey... what's going on?"

Kurt looked up, and Blaine realized the last time he'd asked that. On the steps at McKinley, after Karofsky had pushed him into the fence, and Kurt had stepped in to stop him. He quickly brushed the memory aside, along with the lingering feelings it provoked, and walked over to sit next to his roommate on the bench. Kurt took his fingers off the keys, settling his hands in his lap, and adopted a mask of composure. Blaine hated that mask. But he knew it well.

"Nothing, just wanted to get some exercise, and I ended up here."

Blaine just looked at him.

"It's nothing."

He waited. Blaine was very good at waiting. He didn't like it very much, but he was good at it.

"Blaine, don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Expectantly. Like you're waiting for me to confess."

He relented and cast his eyes down for a moment. "I just want to know what made you leave earlier. Did someone say something to you? Did Ben -"

"No one said _anything_ to me." He tried, but Kurt couldn't keep a tinge of bitterness from his tone.

Blaine's eyes widened, and he got quiet. "What do you mean?"

Kurt sighed. "It's not – it's not that big a deal -"

"Stop assuming that. It is to me."

"It's – it's just... I like Wes and David, and Rich, and everyone. Your friends are great. Really." He looked into Blaine's eyes, trying to brand him with sincerity. "They totally acc-"

"Kurt. Please."

Kurt closed his eyes, and Blaine thought he saw Kurt murmur a quick 'courage'.

He did, by the way. He just didn't know what Kurt was thinking. Which, incidentally, was '_Come on. Courage._ _This is Blaine. Blaine. This is the guy you called when Karofsky kissed you. This is the guy that didn't leave the hospital for three days when you were attacked. You can tell him the stupid reason you left. He probably isn't going to laugh at you. Come on. Courage.'_

"I don't know what you guys are talking about most of the time," he blurted before he could chicken out.

That was clearly not what Blaine had expected to hear, if the way his adorable eyebrows shot up was any indication. He pushed his glasses up, and seemed to think about this for a moment, running his hands distractedly through his hair, which was still slightly damp from the shower he'd taken after swimming laps all afternoon. Kurt had only seen his friend in glasses a few times, and they still made him smile. They reminded him that he wasn't _actually_ perfect, but at the same time they were just so wonderfully... Blaine. It was almost enough to distract him from everything else.

"I don't understand," the older boy finally said. If it hadn't been Blaine, and he hadn't come to find him late at night, and he weren't sitting there in his Dalton swim team t-shirt and sweats being all caring, and perfect, and slightly more than mentor-y, Kurt might have been annoyed. As it was he was just tired. And homesick.

"You guys have so much in common. You know each others girlfriends, and you have all these stories, and I just feel like..."

Blaine's posture improved in sudden, horrified understanding. "...you feel like you aren't one of us." He sounded appalled. "Kurt, you have to know that -"

"I know it'll take time. I know it isn't my fault, and it isn't your fault. It's just the way it is, and the way it will be for a while, I guess. But that doesn't mean it doesn't suck." Kurt leaned his head forward again to rest it back on the piano, but found it blocked by Blaine's hand.

"Let's not let the notes to the piano arrangement of..." he studied the paper, "Beethoven's 5th? Really? Anyway, let's not let the ink rub off all over your forehead, shall we?"

"I think Brahms is more my style."

Blaine chuckled and turned to the keys. Kurt had known it would only be a matter of time, but he was surprised when Blaine started playing Brahms' lullaby. From memory.

"Is there _anything _you can't do?"

Blaine shrugged. "This one isn't difficult. And actually, if you really want to know, I completely suck at French. Seriously."

Kurt scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Blaine kept playing, but he was looking at Kurt, which was ridiculous. "No, really." His hands stilled. "Also, I'm apparently not very good at explaining things."

Kurt gulped. "What kind of things?"

"Things like the fact that when I transferred to Dalton it took me three months to work out the hand signals that Wes and David send to each other."

"They have hand signals?"

"Not so much anymore, they stopped once they discovered I knew. They would mostly be talking about me... and what they could do to make me actually talk to people."

"What?"

"Kurt, I had no fucking idea either. I mean, look at Wes and David. The first two friends I made here were attached at the hip. After a couple of weeks I finally told them to explain whatever the hell they were talking about or let me go back and hide in my room... or here."

Kurt looked doubtful. "You said that?"

"In essentially those words. Wes will probably tell you the story sometime, along with the day when I told he and David that I was gay. They're among his favorites."

Now the younger boy was curious. "Why?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly spoil your enjoyment of them. But Kurt... I – we... we like you. You know we do. We've spent months trying to convince you to come here, and it wasn't just because we wanted you to be safe." He seemed to blush slightly. "You... you're awesome. And it'll take time for you to understand about 50% of what comes out of Wes or David's mouths – that's probably the most you can hope for without needing medication, I've worked out - but you need to give us that. And... now I know how obnoxious we are, I can help." Kurt opened his mouth to object but he raised a hand to silence him. "You need to tell us. I had to ask too. If you don't feel comfortable asking them, I hope you'll ask me."

Kurt smiled slightly. "Okay. Deal."

"Great. Now, considering we're both late for curfew, and you've been going to this school for about four seconds, we'd better get back upstairs." He stood, putting the sheet music back in place and closing the lid over the keys. He held out his hand, a little impressed at his own nerve. "Come on."

Kurt looked at it for a moment, then took it. "Are we going to run through the hallways again?"

"That's the plan," Blaine grinned, checking to see that the hallways were clear before pulling Kurt out of the room. "Don't worry, I know a shortcut."

"Of course you do," Kurt retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, be glad I'm friends with delinquents. You are too, now. It'll be useful."

They got back to the dorms and Kurt went into their room to change before bed. Blaine hesitated at the door. "Um, I'm going to go get my phone from Wes and David's room. I'll be right back."

" 'K."

He knocked on their door and opened it to find Wes lying on his bed, surrounded by empty gummy bear bags, and David reading one of his father's copies of _Everything is Illuminated._

"Why is your father always right?" David asked.

"I don't know, I'll make sure to ask him next time I'm home. Hey, guys?" He picked up his phone and nudged Wes.

"Mmmf," said Wes, who was looking for any stragglers.

"Yep?" David said, peering over the book.

"I need you to be better about explaining stuff to Kurt."

"Stuff like what?" David was confused. "What does he need to know?"

"Stuff like the fact that a large percentage of what we talk about revolves around people he hasn't met yet, stories he hasn't heard, and inside jokes he doesn't know."

Wes' face was thoughtful as he bit the head off of a red gummy bear that had hidden in one of the plastic wrappers. "Oh. Is that why he left?"

"Partly."

They both looked immediately contrite. "We don't mean to," David said anxiously.

"Will you tell him we're sorry?" Wes asked.

"He's our spy, we'd never -"

"He knows," Blaine smiled. "Just take it a little less manically, okay? Let the crazy hit him gradually."

"Like we did with you?"

"Perhaps not exactly like that."

"Ooh, I should tell him the story about -"

"I am going to bed. Goodnight, children." Blaine saluted lazily and headed for the door.

" 'night Blaine."

" 'night Blaine."

Wes raised his voice. " 'night Kurt!" He yelled.

"Yeah. 'night Kurt!" David echoed.

Blaine rolled his eyes, but smiled as he heard a musical laugh from down the hall.

"Goodnight Wes and David!"

He walked back into his room to find his roommate sitting in bed with his History textbook.

"Is it always like this, Blaine? Because it's starting to feel like the end of an episode of The Waltons."

Blaine smirked and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "Always. 'night John Bob."

Kurt made a face. "I never liked him."

"Me either, actually. I retract that."

Blaine flopped onto his bed. Kurt put his book down.

"Hey, Blaine?"

"Hey, Kurt."

His smile turned mischievous. "What did you walk in on Wes and his girlfriend doing?"

"I'll tell you if you want, but... trust me, you really do not want that image burned into your brain."

Kurt seemed to consider this. He nodded. "Okay. I'm good."

"Smart choice."

"Blaine?"

"Yep?"

"Thanks for coming to find me."

"You're welcome."

"I probably would have gotten lost."

"With the amount of time you spent studying that map? I doubt it."

Kurt laughed again, and Blaine closed his eyes contentedly. This was good. He reached over and turned off the lamp next to his bed, and Kurt did the same. Those had been the only lights on in the room, and the darkness was total and comforting.

" 'night Kurt."

"Mmmm. 'night."

* * *

For the next few days they didn't see much of Wes and David, and Blaine knew that Kurt was worried he'd said or done something to offend them. He tried to track them down to ask them what the hell they were playing at, which you'd think would have been easy considering they had most of their classes together, but they were being sneaky. And Blaine was annoyed as hell. After he'd _specifically _asked them to be more welcoming, they went and pulled this.

Un-_fucking_-believable.

And then, at breakfast on Thursday, a very tired looking Wes arrived and dropped a sheaf of papers down in front of Kurt, looking triumphant. Blaine was about to ask them where the hell they'd been when Kurt opened his mouth.

"What's that, a paper?"

David, who also did not look particularly well-rested, chuckled, and Blaine sipped his coffee as he considered throttling them. "No, no. This is _better_."

Wes nodded. "This is _special_."

"This is _one-of-a-kind_."

"It's our greatest achievement to date."

"Well, except perhaps the -"

"Oh yeah, that was good."

"Um, guys?" Kurt asked hesitantly. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, you see," Wes explained in what he believed was a straightforward way, sitting down, "that's the thing."

"So," David clarified, "there's this."

Blaine was just confused. No wonder Kurt ran away. They were insane. Was he like this?

Kurt seemed to be understanding. "This is for me?"

"Yep!"

"Of course!"

Kurt picked up the pile of papers, which had to be at least twenty pages long, and looked at the title. He snorted, then smiled. Blaine looked over his shoulder, and could have actually kissed Wes and David all over their insane, nonsense spouting faces.

It was titled thusly: _Kurt's Guide To All (Important) Things Dalton. (Or: How to stop Blaine having a coronary/killing us all), by Wesley and David_.

Blaine wasn't sure about the subtitle, but he appreciated the sentiment a lot. Kurt flipped it open to the first page. It was an index, of sorts, outlining what could be found where. _Important profiles (Faculty, Girlfriends, Warblers, etc)_ started on page three. _Inside Jokes (Main) _stretched from pages 8 through 14, with footnotes. 15-17 was ominously labelled _Things That Never Happened (but if they did would have been completely awesome and undocumented, and also would have resulted in expulsion)_. Pages 18 through 20 were info about Wes and David themselves. It wasn't until he came to the index listing for 21 that he got suspicious. '_Blaine Hamilton:'_, it said, '_Frequently Asked Questions.'_

He did not like the sound of that at all.

"Hey, can I see that? He held his hand out to take the papers, but Wes slapped his hand away.

"Hands off, Hamilton. That's Kurt's present. And Kurt, our girlfriends are coming over on Friday, and say they want to take you shopping, if you're interested. Apparently you are more interesting than we are."

"I'd love too," Kurt smiled, and the warm and fuzzy feeling in Blaine's chest was almost enough to distract him from his new goal of getting to those papers, a goal which David was now making extremely difficult.

"I just want to see what you-"

He saw Kurt grin and start flipping through the pages. To his section. Of course.

Kurt laughed immediately, and Blaine didn't like it one little bit.

"Just let me -"

Kurt fixed him with a glare that might have been chilling if he also hadn't been grinning from ear to ear.

"Do you really always cry during _An American Tail_?"

"That's under _frequently asked questions_?" He evaded, glaring at David, who shrugged.

"I'm sure it would be if more people knew."

"Really," Wes concluded, "it's less a FAQ section and more of a 'things-that-Blaine-will-never-tell-you-that-you-should-know-section'. Except that title doesn't read as well on an index."

Blaine reached frantically for the papers again, but Kurt stood up, which rendered Blaine at a significant disadvantage. "You were supposed to all get along, not gang up on me," he complained desperately.

David winked at him. This was not comforting.

"You have never seen _The Breakfast Club_?" Kurt looked up, appalled.

Blaine shrugged, waiting for the axe to fall. Wes and David knew more than enough about him to bury him alive.

"Pink? Really?" Kurt said, a moment later.

Blaine chose not to respond.

"Okay, well, I can't fault you on that," Kurt conceded to some point or another.

After another few seconds."Really? Me too!" Blaine would have to look at these questions later. After Wes and David ruined his life.

There was a gasp.

_And there it is. Exaggerating idiots. How did they phrase it? Q: Who has Blaine been talking about obsessively for months? Q: Whose eyes are Wes and David fully sick of hearing about? Q: Who, according to Blaine, had the most under appreciated voice in the history of Glee Clubs anywhere? Or maybe, if Wes got to write it: Q: Who is with Blaine, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G?_

He resigned himself to having to lie a bit to Kurt very soon. It made him feel terrible even thinking about it, but it'd be necessary.

Kurt's eyes set on him with sadness and confusion. Blaine steeled himself.

"I can't believe you," he said, a little angrily. Blaine admitted to himself he was a little hurt by that. "...you...you... _hate cheesecake_?"

Wes and David laughed manically at his relieved sigh, as Kurt lectured him on the delights of homemade dessert. They even contributed the story of the time when they'd all gone out to dinner one time, and Blaine had _actually raised his voice_ to the waiter, who would not stop trying to sell him a piece. Kurt seemed appropriately shocked.

Blaine watched this animated discussion, and the subsequent in depth psychoanalysis of his motivation for this culinary travesty, with a mixture of relief and trepidation. Mostly relief. Actually, about 98% relief.

It seemed that Kurt was starting to feel just _a little bit_ at home after all.

Blaine would take it.

They had time.


	22. Naptimes

_[A/N: I got such quick and wonderful feedback on the last chapter that I give you this in gratitude. Also: to those asking for the guide. Maybe. I'm kinda committed to a lot of writing right now that I don't want to abandon, but I do like the idea. Stay tuned._

_This is almost at 500 reviews. That is so ridiculous I don't quite know what to do with myself._

_Anyway, jumping back in where we left off before the flashback._

_Also, some rumors are circling around that caused me to email psychopiratess this morning in a fangirl panic (well, she emailed me on the subject first, and I responded somewhat reasonably, but then I lurked around on the internet for a bit and the subject line of my next email was 'PANIC'). And then she was all smart, and logical, and reminded me that we just have to wait, and write, and hope for the best._

_So here's hoping._

_Enjoy.]_

* * *

It was Thursday, and Blaine had overslept.

It was only by about twenty minutes, but that and his complete and utter exhaustion were enough to make his morning routine substantially more difficult. The hair gel was a definite no. Glasses instead of contacts. Where were his glasses? He owned some, right? _Oh yeah. Bedside table. Table was next to...Desk. Desk was next to... Flat thing that was comfy and warm with pillows and – No. Class. Focus._

He'd been working on a paper for his History class until 5am, so when the introduction to Mika's Happy Ending (Eclectic Thursday – his choice. He was hoping to subtly hint to Wes that the Warblers should try it. And that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Kurt was the only one of them with the range to sing it. It was just a good song, okay?) invaded his ears an hour and a half later, he pulled his blanket over his head and ignored it until Kurt made it stop. He kind of mumbled as his roommate tried to wake him, then muttered an unintelligible agreement when he said he was going to take a shower, and Blaine had better wake up, because Kurt was going to have to result to drastic measures if he got back and he still hadn't moved.

Getting Wes and David, Blaine sleepily seethed fifteen minutes later, snatching the ice cold flannel off the back of his neck, had been totally unnecessary.

Also, he was probably going to be late for class if he had to wait to get breakfast.

Damn.

He changed quickly, printed off his paper, and ran down to the dining hall to see if he could at least grab a cup of coffee.

He had barely thrown his bag, and tie, which he had remembered last minute, down on the table next to Kurt, who had a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea in front of him, before his roommate handed him an apple and his traditional Thursday box of cornflakes, and turned back to butter him a piece of Wes' toast.

"Sit down. You have ten minutes."

Blaine answered through a mouthful of bread and butter. "'Fanks, Kurt."

"No problem. Latte?" He pushed over a cup.

Blaine smirked lazily. "Wasn't that my line?"

"Don't worry, I'm not feeling particularly tearful today. Although, _you_ are going to get sick if you keep shoving toast down like that."

"My toast," Wes muttered grumpily. "Thief."

Kurt handed the tired boy a bowl from the place on the other side of him, where a treasure trove of breakfast supplies meant for Blaine seemed to dwell, opening the box of cereal, and his roommate downed the latte.

"It is remarkable to me that you all don't weigh three hundred pounds each."

Blaine shrugged, his mouth full of apple, pouring milk. Having woken up a little bit, he had remembered his manners, and finished chewing before he responded. "I work it off."

"And I," Wes gloated, "have a remarkable metabolism."

"It would have to be." Kurt handed Blaine a spoon just as the dark haired boy started blinking into his cereal, trying to work out how it was supposed to get from the bowl to his mouth.

"Oh, thanks," he smiled, slightly dazed.

"You need another latte," David concluded. He stood as Kurt did, but waved the younger boy down. "I've got it. I need to get more milk anyway. Vanilla today, right?"

"Huh?" Blaine said intelligently.

"Better make it a double," Kurt decided.

"Blaine, my friend," Wes snorted, "you not being a morning person is something that will never stop being funny. Kurt, did I ever tell you about the time he -"

The empty cereal box hit him in the face, and he scowled.

"You should use that pitching arm for good, you know, not evil."

"I could strangle you with it," Blaine offered, perking up immediately at the thought. "Besides, baseball conflicts with soccer and swimming. Which I might not even have time for anyway."

"Drink your orange juice," Kurt ordered. Blaine obediently picked up the glass he was handed and took a sip.

David returned with the promised coffee, and Blaine grabbed it gratefully.

"I hope we have learned our lesson in regard to volunteering to hand your paper in early," Wes prodded.

"Yeah, Wes won't even look at the prompt until Monday." David took his own neatly stapled paper out of his binder and flipped through it to check that the page order was correct, the picture of academic alertness. Blaine glared at him from behind his glasses as he tried to button the collar. He was certain he had not ever looked less put together in his life. And why was there an extra button on his shirt today?

"Blaine, your shirt is mis-buttoned," Kurt noted helpfully. Blaine moved his hand to fix them, too tired to be embarrassed, and would have dumped his glass of orange juice all over himself if Kurt hadn't grabbed it in time.

"How long has it been since you slept? For more than an hour or two, I mean." His concern was evident.

Blaine tried to think. He hadn't slept last night, because of the paper. And the night before he'd had an idea for a really great song, so he hadn't got much sleep then either. And the night before that he and Kurt had had a movie marathon. That had been fun.

"Few days," he shrugged.

David had picked up the binder he'd thrown on the table and was reading the fruits of Blaine's labors. "It's still better than mine. That is so unfair."

"Huh?" said Blaine.  
"Oh, Christ," sighed Wes. "It's going to be a long day."

The first bell rang and Blaine jumped up, looking around. He grabbed his binder from David and his bag off the table, then headed towards a door. Kurt cleared his throat and held up the tie he had left next to his bowl.

"Oh, yeah." He grabbed it and absently headed towards the door again, turning after a few seconds when another cough was accompanied by a snicker. Kurt just pointed to the door on the other side of the room.

"Oh. Right." He saw the dishes he'd left. "I should -"

Kurt waved his hand. "I have tutorial first thing. I've got it. Go."

Blaine shot a tired, ridiculously charming smile at him and then headed off. Wes picked up his books.

"Do you think he remembers that the three of us are all going to the same class?"

"I doubt he remembers what class _is_."

Kurt looked worried. "Go catch him and make sure he doesn't walk into any walls or anything, won't you?"

David patted him comfortingly. "We've got it. Don't worry."

Kurt noticed that Blaine had left his phone and wallet on the table, handed them to David to pass on, and wasn't very comforted.

* * *

By lunch Blaine had fallen asleep in History class, sat through English with a dazed look on his face, and been so out of it during Study Hall that their teacher asked him if he was ill. David, who was also in that class, had told the teacher that he was just a little under the weather. Wes had commented that the weather in question was clearly some kind of hurricane. Music theory was worse. Wes was fairly certain that there had to be giant bruises forming on his friend's shins from all the kicking that was going on.

They kept telling him he should take the rest of the day off, but he kept insisting he was fine, he might take a nap at Lunch, and he wanted to be awake for Warbler practice.

At least, that's what they assumed the mumbling meant.

When Kurt saw them at their usual table at Lunch, and walked over to see Wes wrestling a cup of coffee from Blaine's grip, he decided enough was enough.

"Blaine."

No response. He was still focused on the coffee, which David was also now trying to take.

"You – need – sleep," Wes panted, "not – more – coffee!"

"Blaine!"

"But I just have two more classes and then rehearsal!"

"If you think we are letting you go to rehearsal like this you are very much mistaken..."

"BLAINE!"

"Blaine, I think Kurt is trying to get your attention," David pointed out.

Blaine's head snapped around and he let go of the coffee, which was thankfully lukewarm by this point, causing Wes to jump up so he didn't get doused.

"Hi, Kurt," he grinned. "What's up?"

"Go to bed, Blaine."

"But I have English and Spanish, and then rehearsals! And then I'm supposed to -"

"Actually you have French and Math. And I so don't care. You need to sleep."

"I can't, I -"

"Blaine Hamilton or Anderson-Ford-Roberts, if you do not voluntarily go up to our room and go to sleep I will, so help me Gaga, have Wes and David _drag_ you there." Kurt's hands were on his hips. That was a bad sign.

" 's not my name," Blaine muttered, but one look David and Wes' faces, which showed no sign of disagreement with this plan, made him think twice before protesting. He was_ unbelievably_ tired. "Okay. I'll go."

Kurt seemed relieved. "Good. Let's get you into bed."

Wes snickered. Kurt smacked him across the head.

"I can find my way to our dorm room," Blaine objected, as Kurt pushed him out the door. His argument was slightly negated, however, by the fact that he then walked into an empty classroom and looked very confused.

"This is you without sleep for four days?" Kurt grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him in the right direction. "God help us when finals come."

"I'm good at finals," Blaine objected. "Ask Des. I mean... Wavid. I mean..."

Kurt was prodding him up the stairs, down the hall, and into their dorm room. He looked at Kurt hopefully.

"Sleep?"

Kurt smiled. "Yes, go to sleep. I'll bring you something up for dinner, and we'll make sure your teachers know."

Blaine was already on his bed, curling up to his pillow with a smile. " 'Night, Kurt."

He looked about five years old. Kurt grabbed a blanket from his own bed and lay it over him, picking up the blazer that had been dropped on the floor. " 'Night."

He watched Blaine's eyes drift closed, then decided that staring at your sleeping roommate was probably not a good excuse for being late to Physics. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

He stopped and turned around automatically when he heard the whisper of his name.

Blaine's eyes were still closed, and he was still holding his pillow, a content smile on his face.

Kurt decided he must have imagined it and went to go grab a salad or something before class.


	23. Origins

[A/N: More, because I just can't seem to help myself.]

* * *

Kurt's phone rang in the middle of Saturday afternoon, and he looked slightly surprised when he glimpsed the caller ID. He glanced at Blaine, who was lying on the floor reading an Agatha Christie novel, in confusion, but didn't explain anything before he picked up.

"Hello?... Hi! I'm fine, thanks! You?...Did you want...?... No, that sounds fine. Not 'til tomorrow... Yes, he is...No, it's okay, I'll let you have some time... I know you do... I know he does...Alright, I'll tell him." He laughed. "You too... I know... See you then!"

Blaine was looking at him expectantly by the time he hung up the phone. Kurt looked at him and smirked. "That was your mother."

Blaine pulled out his phone. He had no missed calls. "She's actually calling you first now? I knew they liked you better."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "They were hoping to surprise you, so she was calling ahead to see if you were busy. Then she figured we were in the same room, so you'd find out anyway."

"Surprise?"

"Yeah. Your dad is lecturing somewhere not far from here tomorrow, a last minute thing, and she's going with him. They're staying there tonight, but wanted to know if you were available for dinner."

"And, as my personal secretary, what did you tell them?"

"That you are."

A dark eyebrow flew up. "What if I have a hot date?"

Blaine would be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit gratified by the brief look of panic that crossed his roommate's face before he regained his composure and raised a single, well maintained eyebrow of his own. "Do you?"

The older boy couldn't think of any reason to lie, especially if it made his friend look like that. He was gratified, not mean. "Only with my literature paper."

Kurt tried very hard not to look relieved. He did not even remotely succeed.

"Well, they'll be here in an hour. You'd better change out of your pajamas."

"Aren't you coming?" This seemed to confuse him, as though hadn't even considered it a possibility.

"No, I thought the three of you might want some time together – you haven't been home in a while."

Blaine shrugged. "They'd like you there, as I'm sure she pointed out." He met Kurt's eyes. "I would too."

There was a short pause, then Kurt smiled. "Maybe, then. If you're sure."

"Please, w- they adore you."

"Wes and David?"

"I think they're out on a double date tonight. With the girls, I mean."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot. I was consulted during the shopping."

"By Wes and David?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Blaine smirked and headed for the door. "I'd better go shave and change."

"Yeah, go make yourself pretty."

"I do have a head start."

Kurt rolled his eyes again, and Blaine loved it. "Time is of the essence. Bet I'll be ready first."

"Done. Winner gets to pick the movie next time. Meet you in the entrance hall?"

"Sure."

* * *

About fifty minutes later Beverley swept through the front doors to greet Kurt, who was sitting on the staircase. He stood as soon as he saw her.

"Kurt, darling!"

He stepped off the staircase and into her warm hug, and waved to Hal, who had entered behind her and was grinning as he crossed to them.

"It's great that you could come by! Blaine'll be here in a minute."

"Or even sooner," a voice said behind him.

Kurt turned around to find his roommate standing a couple of steps above him. Their eyes met as both of them realized the position they were in directly mirrored their first meeting.

A few seconds passed, and Kurt itched to take his hand, as Blaine had then taken his. Not that they didn't hold hands more than was strictly necessary as it was.

"Darling, did you talk Kurt into coming with us? I told him you wouldn't mind, but he seemed to think we hated him or something."

Blaine broke eye contact, a little bit reluctantly, and smiled at his mother. "He's coming."

Kurt hastened to add "I just wanted to let you guys have some -"

Hal had stepped onto the step next to his son and was giving him a hug. He grabbed Kurt with his other arm and hugged him too. "Don't be silly. As my countryman Samuel Beckett once said -"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Dad, you were born in Boston."

"Your grandmother would hate to hear you say that. Embrace your Irish roots."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that. Joyce, Swift, Yeates, Beckett – even though he wrote Waiting For Godot in French, Shaw, Stoker...can we have dinner first, though?"

"I suppose. Kurt, I trust you've been keeping them out of trouble."

Kurt smiled. "I do what I can."

"Speaking of trouble, where are Wesley and David?"

"They're out. They'll be mad they missed you..."

"Well, be sure to make tonight sound very exciting. I do so enjoy it when Wes sends me angry voicemails accusing me of favoritism."

Beverley took her husband's arm, kissing Blaine on the cheek and squeezing his hand with her free one. "Missed you, darling. We should probably go, Hal, if we want to get these boys back at a reasonable hour."

Her husband brightened instantly at her touch, and gestured to the boys to follow them. "Of course. Onward!"

Blaine snorted as his parents made their way across the entrance hall, deliberately not looking back. He met Kurt's eyes again, taller than him for once. He tilted his head towards the door, then took a step down so the two of them were both on solid ground, letting his hand brush his roommate's as he passed.

" 'Fraid I don't know a shortcut this time," he murmured, accompanying the words with a wink.

Kurt watched him take a few steps then ran to catch up.

Blaine couldn't just _do_ things like that.

* * *

Conversation at dinner flew at the usual Hamilton pace, meaning that when Kurt and Bev fell into a conversation about old musicals, Hal asked his son about something-or-the-other and they were off, conversations diverging and meeting throughout the meal. About half-way through dessert Kurt noticed Beverley's left hand, resting on the table, and looked at it for a moment. She wasn't one for flashy jewelry, but it was always very nice, and her wedding band and tasteful emerald engagement ring were two of the only three rings she wore. The other was gold, on the third finger of her hand, and Kurt tried to identify the intricate design, which he thought he might have seen before.

"It's a Claddagh ring," Bev smiled at him, lifting it into the light. "Hal gave it to me when we were dating."

Blaine and Hal noticed the gesture and let their conversation trail off.

"It's lovely," Kurt took the hand she offered and looked closer. "Oh! I think I've seen this. It's Irish, isn't it?"

"It is!" Hal grinned at him like he was a particularly bright student. "It's a very old tradition. Men have them too, sometimes. I have one somewhere, I used to wear it with my wedding band, but -"

"He'd lose it every other day," Blaine supplied. "It's best if it stays at home."

Beverley just looked amused. Hal ignored his son, although Kurt saw his friend wince slightly, then grin impishly, like he'd been kicked under the table. "Anyway, Kurt, do you know the significance?"

Blaine groaned. "Do _not_ get him started. Let me." he turned to Kurt. "I'll give you the abridged version. The crown is loyalty, hands are friendship, heart is... well, that's pretty self-explanatory. The orientation of the ring, and the hand and finger you wear it on, indicate your relationship status. Right hand, any finger, with point of the heart towards the fingertip is open to a relationship, or indicates y-the wearer might be looking for love. Third finger on the right hand with the heart's point inward indicates the wearers heart is taken, or that they are in love. The third finger on the left hand with point out (heart open) is an engagement, or long term relationship. Closed heart on the left hand means marriage."

Hal looked at him in approval. "Concise. Well done."

Blaine smirked at the praise. "I wanted us to get out of here some time tonight."

"When did you become so obnoxious?" Hal asked with a false air of resignation.

"Wes is an excellent teacher."

"I'd imagine. Make sure you thank him."

"I will." Blaine turned to Kurt. "That's the logistics, anyway, but there's all kinds of romantic stories about the origins. Dad is slightly obsessed with Irish folklore."

"It's interesting!" Hal objected. Beverley took his hand.

"Of course, darling."

He immediately smiled.

Kurt looked at his roommate with curiosity. "You don't wear one."

Blaine's ears turned pink. "I never felt the need to."

His eyes lit up with recognition. "But haven't I seen one around in our room?"

Bev turned to Kurt. "We gave him one for his -"

"Anyway," Blaine said loudly, "can I try some of your chocolate cake, Dad?"

"It's very good." Hal obligingly slid his plate over while Beverley smirked at her son.

"That's really lovely," Kurt told her, nodding at the ring again.

"Thank you, dear. I'm very fond of it. And it's a lovely romantic story. You should have Blaine tell you sometime."

Blaine dropped his fork and glared at his mother, picking it up a moment later to take another bite of cake. Kurt blushed and became very interested in his lemonade. Beverley and Hal just grinned at each other.

* * *

Much later, when Kurt was already asleep, Blaine opened the drawer in his bedside table and pulled out the small pouch his parents had given him for his birthday. He palmed the ring that he took out of it, and rolled it around in his fingers, as he had many times before. He experimentally slipped it onto the third finger of his right hand, with the point of the heart facing out. He looked at it. It didn't feel right. He took it off and turned it around, but he couldn't bring himself to slip it back on. That wouldn't be real. It would be hard to take off. He'd miss it, and what it was supposed to represent. He sighed quietly and slipped the metal back into its velvet prison, replacing it in the drawer. And as he closed his eyes, he admitted to himself the real reason why he didn't wear the ring. It was because, if he did, he'd have to decide which way the metal heart, which was supposed to reflect his own, should face. Open or closed. Looking or taken. And the way he knew _his_ heart would choose was not the same as the way he pretended every single day that he felt.


	24. Attempts

_[A/N: This is for EmmaTheSpottedBat, because she just left me a review saying she loved the "glacial pace" of this, and it made me laugh out loud. Also, she is one of the few people who went and read/reviewed the one-shot Slushie continuation, and I appreciate that.]_

* * *

Kurt hadn't avoided bringing Blaine home for dinner on purpose. In fact, with the knowledge that the only significant amount of time his roommate had really spent with his family and friends was when he was in hospital (moving into his dorm at Dalton had been too hectic for anyone to really bond), he'd tried pretty hard to find a time when the two of them could go to Lima together. After all, he'd spent the night at Blaine's house. It was only fair.

And, to be perfectly honest, it wasn't really Blaine's fault either. He'd tried to make it work, but the few weekends that Kurt had driven home, in the few months he'd been at Dalton, Blaine had either promised to go home himself, or had commitments to stay at school. He really did want to meet Kurt's friends and family properly. It just hadn't worked out.

It had even looked like it might happen over Winter Break. Blaine had called Kurt on December 23rd, wondering if he had accidentally grabbed his French textbook (which he had. Ooops). Kurt had offered to drive it over, or meet him half-way, but Blaine (who seemed to have a sudden iron-willed dedication to study the language he professed to loathe on a regular basis) had told him not to worry about it, and if it was okay he'd just stop by the next day and grab it from him. Kurt managed to ignore the part of his brain that was thinking of reasons why Blaine would voluntarily drive for hours to pick up a book he frequently threatened to set on fire (or rather, let Wes set on fire) and told him that would be fine. Blaine sounded pleased.

"Great, thanks! Hey, I can give you your Christmas present. And I'll finally get to see your family again!"

Kurt smiled at this. "Yeah! I mean, most of New Directions will be busy, I think... we're all hanging out on Boxing Day...you should come, if you're free. But my family should be around tomorrow."

"I'd love to do Boxing Day, but my mother is throwing a party. I was just informed that I was supposed to have invited you weeks ago. Sorry 'bout that. And she says your family should come too. In fact, I am currently being scolded for not inviting you all over sooner - Ow, Mom! Easy with the pistachios, please. I'm asking him!"

Kurt grinned at the image. "Well, I don't think we can. Tell her I'm really sorry! But there's tomorrow..."

"Yeah. Of course."

But the best laid plans...

It turned out that Carole had a work thing, a compulsory Christmas party (who made things compulsory on the afternoon of Christmas eve? People trying to ruin Kurt's plans, that's who) that she'd RSVPd herself and Burt for months ago, and completely forgotten about. And Finn was doing, at Rachel's behest, some volunteer hours at a local community center (Rachel had decided that future stars needed to dedicate themselves to a cause. She had found several, and was trying them all out). Kurt would be babysitting their next-door neighbor's baby all afternoon, because Carole couldn't anymore, and Blaine would have to drive home before the rest of his family was back. So that didn't work out like planned. When he called his friend to inform him of this, quite annoyed that they wouldn't see each other until they were back at school (Blaine's family was spending the New Year in California with relatives), Blaine had said it was no problem, he'd just come over and pick up the book, and babysit with Kurt until he had to leave...if that was okay.

"I have excellent references," he smiled into the phone.

That was _so_ okay with Kurt you would not believe it.

It was even okay with their neighbor.

They did have fun. Blaine, an only child who had been babysitting since he was allowed (his neighbors had 7 children, he explained, and as the kid next door he was occasionally conscripted to help), had barely said hello to Kurt before his eyes found Riana (who Kurt was holding, and that was an image that Blaine did not find in the least distracting or fantasy provoking, in case you were wondering. Not at all) and he was enchanted - and also, Kurt couldn't help but think, watching them together, totally freaking adorable. But once they'd played for a while, and Riana had discovered Blaine's hair, which seemed to be her new favorite thing in the world, if the way she was running her fingers through the dark, un-gelled curls was any indication (Kurt could sympathize with this urge, and was briefly and illogically jealous, before he realized that she was a _baby_, for crying out loud, and anyway, he had no right to decide who played with Blaine's hair...), it was time for her nap, and Kurt settled her down and came back to the living room, putting the baby monitor on the coffee table and stretching out next to Blaine on the couch.

They exchanged gifts, and Kurt chickened out of giving him the other one he'd been agonizing over for the last few days. Blaine had gotten them all (Wes, David, Kurt, and himself) tickets to see_ Next To Normal_ when it came on tour, and as a joint present Kurt knew Wes was covering a room at a nice hotel in the city for the night, so they didn't have to drive home. Blaine had also gotten him a replacement copy of the Special Edition of _The Little Mermaid_, because his old copy had vanished at some point in the last few weeks. They suspected Wes' involvement, but he would admit nothing.

Kurt had gotten Blaine the _The Hunger Games_ trilogy box-set, which he knew his roommate badly wanted to read, and a gorgeous green sweater that he had stared at in the shop window every time he was home, thinking how great it would look on Blaine, lamenting the fact that it was twice as expensive as he could reasonably afford, and eventually resigning himself to having to find something else.

And then the universe had been on his side the last time he came home, because the sweater – which was soft, and perfect, and Blaine absolutely _needed_ _to have_ – was on sale.

If Kurt had believed in god, he would have suspected divine intervention.

But anyway, Blaine adored his gifts, and put the sweater on immediately (and oh, Kurt noticed, he had been _so right_ about it bringing out his eyes...). Kurt put in _The Little Mermaid_, and they watched it, because that was a movie that neither of them would ever stop loving, ever. And he thought about how he wished his Dalton friends, Blaine in particular, actually _knew _his McKinley friends.

Sure, Blaine had met New Directions in passing, and he'd talked to them a bit at the hospital, and he'd even spent time with Mercedes a few times (and, of course, Kurt frowned, there was the slushie incident). And they were all friends on facebook, so everyone chatted a bit there, and liked each others statuses, or engaged in some minor trash talk about regionals (Wes and Puck seemed to have taken this as their new calling in life). And he'd met Carole and Burt, spent time with them at the hospital too, and even talked to them on the phone a few times while Kurt was busy and asked him to entertain them.

But they hadn't been introduced. By Kurt. Properly. In more than the sense of "You're the one Mercedes said we needed to call? Hi." or "Hey, you remember Blaine. He's my roommate. Where did you put my boxes of accessories? Oh my god, where the hell is my Marc Jacobs coat?"

And Kurt really wanted to introduce them.

Especially when Blaine woke him gently at the end of the movie, and told him that he had to go, but Riana was back asleep, and he'd fed her already, so she should be fine, but the baby monitor was right there, just in case.

And as they said goodbye, and Blaine walked to his car, Kurt found himself remembering the image of his smiling roommate making funny faces as Riana pulled his hair. And he really wished Blaine could've met his family.

And then, as Blaine's car disappeared around the corner, Riana woke up again, so he closed the front door and went back inside.

Blaine, in his car, put his hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the other gift he had for Kurt, the one he'd brought at the last minute, and had realized when he arrived at Kurt's door that he couldn't give to him.

Not yet.


	25. Tangles

_[A/N: Very minor character name/trait spoilers for Tangled, the movie. Nothing major. _

_Also, there are some new people reviewing, so this is for them (not that I don't adore everyone who had been responding to every chapter, because you guys are the reason that this is still happening), because they make me happy. Enjoy.]_

* * *

As they walked out of the movie theater there were two things on Kurt's mind. Firstly, Wes should never be allowed to eat gummy bears, jelly beans, and licorice in the same sitting, especially when other people were being subjected to him. They could not take their eyes off him for _a minute_. Secondly, there was nothing like a Disney movie in a dark theater to make you want to reach out and hold hands with your cute, adorably excited, Disney-loving best friend, especially if he just so happened to be sitting next to you. Which Kurt had not planned. Not at all. Just in case you were wondering, or anything.

Wes was dancing around singing "Mother Knows Best", clearly having enjoyed the movie even more for the massive amounts of junk food he had consumed. David was texting his girlfriend, who was watching _Tangled_ at another theater on a girls night out, and Blaine was keeping an eye on his sugar addled friend. Wes stopped his manic flailing when they got out into the parking lot and turned around.

"We should do a stage version of that movie right now!"

Wes thought they should do a stage version of every movie they saw. It was a hazard of putting him in a room with anything mildly entertaining.

"Of course we should." Blaine rolled his eyes, getting his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the car.

"No, think about it!" This was his third brilliant musical pitch this week. "David could be the chameleon -"

"He doesn't sing. Or talk," David objected as they all climbed in.

"No, but he looks at everyone like they're crazy, and you're good at that."

"I have a great deal of practice."

"Anyway, I would be Flynn, obviously. And -"

Kurt snorted from the front seat as Blaine pulled out of the parking space. Wes abandoned his cast list to look at him with distain.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Kurt spoke before he thought. "Well, Blaine would obviously have to be Flynn."

The driver/leading man braked a little harder than was strictly necessary at the red light.

David laughed, and hurriedly tried to cover it with a cough. "Of course, Wes, what are you thinking?"

Blaine glanced over at the passenger seat then into the rear-view mirror, smiling slightly. "If the choice is between me and Wes... well, Wes, you're more like Max. Stubborn, persistent, good-hearted but mildly annoying at first."

"You'd cast me as the HORSE? The horse doesn't even talk!"

"Let's see how you like it," David muttered.

"Yeah, you're both my interfering animal sidekicks. The more I hear this, the more I like it." Blaine was clearly warming to the subject as they headed back towards Dalton.

Wes was pouting. "I still think you're far too much of a goody-two shoes to play Flynn."

"Maybe, but I've got the looks." He winked at Kurt, who blushed.

David didn't miss that. "He has the weird name, too... Now, let's see... who would Kurt play?..." He pretended to think about this for all of five seconds. Blaine's lips pursed slightly, seeing where this was going. "Well, I suppose we'd need someone to play the Princess..."

Kurt's eyes widened as the subtext of that hit him, and he reflexively looked over to check his roommate's reaction. It was very carefully blank, eyes on the road, which was no help whatsoever.

He laughed nervously. "Sure, David. Not sure I'd look good as a blonde, though."

"Oh, I don't know. What do you think, Flynn? Would Kurt be a worthy Princess for you?"  
Blaine's voice was cheerful but detached. "Of course he would. But I'd especially look forward to our fight scene, Wes."

The boy in question, who was beginning to come down from his manic rush, brightened considerably at this. "Yeah! It'd be awesome . We could have -"

And he was off again, plotting his Tony award winning musical. Blaine and Kurt exchanged a look that spoke of inner conflict, and posed a lot more questions for each than it answered.

* * *

"Do you really think I'd make a good Disney prince?"

Kurt dropped the half a bagel he was holding onto the desk. It was later that same night, and they were eating a snack while studying. Well, Blaine had been studying. Kurt had been drawing pictures of towers and lanterns in his physics notebook. Pathetic? Yes. But everyone needs to embrace their inner 12 year-old girl sometimes. He jumped when his roommate spoke.

"What do you mean? Of course you would. He isn't a Prince, though."

"I always saw myself more as the sidekick, really."

"Well, I definitely think you have prince potential." Where were these words coming from and when did he suddenly become so brave? "You saved me, after all."

And..._ hello, courage._

Blaine seemed to consider this, blushing a little, but not nearly as deeply as Kurt was.

"I don't know about that, but I always thought that in all the best Disney movies the Princess saves the Prince a little bit too. They – well, they save each other."

Kurt wanted to play back this conversation to check on some things. Like, for example, that it was actually happening

"I... I guess so. I never really considered that."

"Oh, yeah. Prince helps the Princess realize that life can be better... Princess helps the Prince realize it's okay to be himself." Blaine cleared his throat and broke eye contact. "Or... you know, something like that."

Kurt was a new and exciting shade of pink by this point. "Yeah."

They both went back to studying in what was now a slightly awkward silence, and it wasn't until about ten minutes later Blaine had a thought. "Hey, you want to see something I worked out earlier?"

"Sure."

He was reaching under his bed for something, feeling around past the guitars (he had two there, Kurt knew), violin, mandolin, miniature keyboard and god knows what else – once, Kurt could have sworn he saw something that looked suspiciously like a drum stick. He surfaced after a minute with a wooden box, which he opened, and pulled out a harmonica.

"Well," Kurt said, "that was anti-climatic. I was hoping for a trumpet or something."

"It isn't Aladdin's cave under there, you know. I'm not a magician. And I don't play the trumpet."

"I'm not so sure. And it's the orchestral equivalent."

"Well, anyway, I was listening during the movie, and I think I've got it worked out."

He put the harmonica to his lips, and Kurt was irrationally jealous of the metal. He'd never really liked harmonicas – they were always a bit grating, to his mind – but when Blaine began to play it was haunting and gorgeous. He recognized it immediately. It was the duet, 'I See the Light', that Flynn and Rapunzel sang. He opened his mouth in awe.

"How do you _do_ that? You heard it once!"

Blaine put the harmonica down and shrugged. "I remembered it, and I was thinking about it during the movie. It wasn't that hard to pick out the melody. It's improvised a bit though, 'cause it isn't really meant for a harmonica. Obviously."

"You do realize that not_ everyone_ can just _do _that, right?"

Blaine shrugged in what Kurt could only describe as a quintessentially Blaine-like manner. He didn't like it when people pointed out that he was unnaturally gifted.

"It's not a big deal." He flopped back down onto his bed. "So, what did you think of the movie? Similarities between myself and the hero aside, I mean."

"Hero?"

"Oh, do not start with me on this. He is totally -"

"If you'll notice, Rapunzel is the one who -"

And the Prince and Prince(ess) argued over who was the hero of the story, even though neither of them really cared as much as they pretended they did. They each just liked spirited debate, okay? It had nothing to do with their roommate's flushed cheeks and flashing eyes.

Not that they noticed things like that.

Obviously.


	26. Thoughts

It was like an itch.

A persistent itch, one that wouldn't go away, no matter how much Kurt tried not to think about it.

He was sitting in their dorm room, one Sunday afternoon, drawing a birthday card for Mercedes, while Blaine was writing a paper for French class. His roommate was staring at his computer like it was a particularly difficult jigsaw puzzle to be solved, sitting on his bed in an old, baggy sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. The sweatshirt was so loose that it hung off one shoulder – his right one, to be exact - and about fifteen minutes into the study session Kurt suddenly had the urge to drop a quick kiss to the exposed skin.

Just a peck, honestly. He had no idea why. But Blaine was just leaning his head a little bit to the side as he studied the screen thoughtfully, a hand running distractedly through his hair (which he had been gelling less than usual recently, Kurt had noticed, not helping the frequent urges he had to run his fingers through it. Just saying), his neck stretched out slightly, and Kurt was sitting at the desk spinning in the chair as he thought, and on one revolution it just crossed his mind that he'd really, really like to press his lips to the spot where his roommate's shoulder met his neck.

He wouldn't linger, or anything. That wasn't the point. It was just affectionate, that was all. And slightly overwhelming.

Kurt unconsciously licked his lips.

Blaine looked up, feeling eyes on him.

"What?" he asked. "Do I have something on my neck?"

_Not a kiss, sadly_, Kurt lamented. Then he realized that he was being addressed.

"Um... no... sorry, I was just... looking at your sweatshirt."

Blaine rolled his eyes.

"I know it isn't Alexander McQueen, but I'm comfortable, okay?" he fake-pouted, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Truth be told, Kurt kind of preferred that sweatshirt to Alexander McQueen at that moment.

But don't tell anyone.


	27. Logistics

Blaine gasped as he felt Kurt's tongue wend in a lazy zig-zag pattern down his neck, sending his pulse racing as a steady hand moved over his bare chest and lingered on his stomach, tracing patterns between the indentations, his abdominal muscles automatically tightening at the touch. He was finding it difficult to keep track of that hand, however, as his roommate's other was twisted wonderfully tightly into his hair, and his own hands were busy, one holding onto the side of his bed for dear life, because he thought he might actually _die_ from the intensity, and one on Kurt's back, feeling the smooth skin of his shoulder blades, marveling at the way his spine curved as his mouth found a place it was particularly interested in, the pressure point on Blaine's neck, and effectively ended all trains of coherent thought – the ones that had been fighting a losing battle to fly around in Blaine's brain. In fact, Blaine's educated mind, when it registered what Kurt was doing, pretty much entered an endless loop of '

''ohmygod - sofuckinggooddonteverstop - mouthalloverme - whyaminottouchingyou - whereismyhand - whyamiwearingsomuchclothing - ohmygod...''

Some primal, responsive part of him forced his hands down Kurt's body, as his best friend found his interest wandering downward as well, and Blaine impatiently pushed off the blankets on his bed so that they could just-

"JUST DANCE! GONNA BE OKAY! Doo doo doo doo! JUST DANCE! TURN THAT RECORD, BABE! Doo doo doo doo!"

Blaine opened his eyes to another Friday morning, several months after Kurt had transferred, and nearly threw the alarm clock out the damn window.

Well, _fuck_.

* * *

Living with someone you were pretending _very throughly_ that you didn't desperately want had its drawbacks.

For example, communal showers.

Now, Kurt had changed in the locker rooms at McKinley, and in middle school, for years. When he was on the football team, briefly, he'd usually opted to go straight home after practice and shower, rather than deal with the rest of the team's comments. But he was pretty used to naked boys. And, as he had pointed out to multiple people over the years, he'd somehow managed to somehow control himself so far.

But at Dalton there was an expensive bathroom, with five shower stalls, shared between the boys on each floor.

And when Kurt woke up on his first morning as a Dalton boarder, and his first view had been of Blaine entering their room with a towel securely fastened around his waist, drops of water still clinging to his hair, and dripping down his shoulders... and onto his chest and stomach... and in the grooves in the muscles that led down past the horribly intrusive white cloth...

"Good morning!" Blaine had noticed that he was awake, and was pulling a pair of boxers on under his towel, flushing slightly.

_Because you are staring at his half naked body like an insane person_, Kurt's brain reminded him.

He quickly busied himself with getting ready for class.

" 'Morning, Blaine. Sleep well?"

* * *

Blaine went running at least four times a week, when he wasn't on a team that was in season.

The moment when Kurt discovered this was also, coincidentally, the moment he dropped his brand new Math textbook on his foot. Which also happened to be the day he started taking showers that were a little bit colder than usual.

Blaine had walked into their room as Kurt was tying his tie and filling his bag with books, ready for his third day at Dalton, and kind of wondering where the hell his roommate had gone, and his mouth had suddenly become _very_ dry.

Because there was Blaine, in shorts and a t-shirt, his hair unstyled, sweat dripping from _everywhere_, pulling his ipod headphones out of his ears and grinning.

"Hey, you. Want to get breakfast? I have to take a shower, but if you can wait... I'll be quick."

Kurt sat down on his bed. He would wait. "Sure."

"Cool. Give me ten?"

_You can have absolutely as many as you want of _whatever_ you like._

Kurt realized he was still gaping like a deranged goldfish, and hurriedly picked up the nearest book and pretended to read. "Go on. I'll be here."

Blaine grabbed a towel, put down his ipod, and took his shirt off and dropped it on the floor. It is fairly safe to say that Kurt was processing absolutely nothing of the book in his hands. Which was upside-down, actually.

"Be back in a sec."

He left, and Kurt worked for a few minutes on breathing exercises. Was it hot in their room? It felt unseasonably hot for that time of year.

Dalton really needed to work on its climate control.

* * *

Time had made this slightly easier, but not much. Learning that Blaine had been on the Dalton soccer team had _not_ helped, let alone the mental images that finding out he was also on the swim team provoked. Neither, although Kurt didn't know this, had the fact that Blaine's youtube favorites kept reminding him that Kurt was really, _really_ flexible. He was a _cheerleader_.

Sometimes that thought would kind of stick itself in Blaine's head. He had never really understood the appeal of cheerleaders, seeing as most of them were female, and that kind of wasn't his type. He had known that, in some places, guys did it too, but it wasn't until he had youtube searched Kurt Hummel (shamefully shortly after they'd met) and the fourth or fifth result was what appeared to be a pep rally, that Blaine had suddenly had an epiphany.

Cheerleaders were _hot_.

He had been an idiot for not realizing this sooner.

Especially ones who could sing like _that_.

There were times when Blaine thought that Wes and David must have commissioned Kurt's existence specifically in order to torture him. It would totally be something they'd do. The whole thing was highly suspicious. He could sing, he was smart, he was gorgeous... and he was a cheerleader. And now he lived with Blaine. In his _room_.

So some time in January, Blaine had gone to wash his hands and face one evening, because Wes had managed to spill coffee all over his desk (which had contained sheet music and Blaine, who had rather stupidly been taking a short nap on it), and was currently having a minor psychotic episode as a result... even though it was months until regionals, and the sheet music would dry. Blaine idly wondered where Kurt was, and then, like magic, he appeared, coming out of the second shower stall with a towel around his waist and his head tilted over his shoulder as he rubbed lotion into his shoulder blades, and Blaine's thought process became something like this:

_'oh my god lotion on that skin __looks so soft smells so good __wonder what it would taste like __stop it Blaine he's your friend and roommate__ you should not be doing this doesn't need your drama __oh my god look at him look at him look at him.'_

Or something like that. The details were not important.

He had, of course, seen his roommate shirtless quite a bit over the last few months, or in his boxers, albeit not for as extended amounts of time as he'd prefer. They were pretty comfortable together. He'd obviously seen him with a towel on, on his way to or from the shower, and had, for the most part, managed to retain the power of speech.

But now there was lotion happening, and that just wasn't _fair_.

In the few seconds it took for Kurt to notice him standing there, with his jaw slightly unhinged (very much like his mind, he thought), he tried desperately to think about something else. Anything.

_French homework. Verbs. Kurt helping me with verbs. Us deciding that conjugation is stupid, and instead we should – no!_

"Um... hey, Blaine." Kurt stopped rubbing the lotion into his skin. The slightly older boy fought the urge to offer his help to get the parts he couldn't reach.

He was happy to help. Really.

Because he was just a good guy like that.

"Hi, Kurt." He should really stop staring. He'd do that. On the count of three. Ready? 1...2...3.

Okay, try again. 1...2...3...4...5...6...

Ah, there. That wasn't so hard.

Oh. Kurt was now looking at him oddly. Retreat.

"I should...um... go help David with Wes."

"What is Wes doing? Is that _coffee_ all over you?"

"Probably crying by now. And yeah. I'll, um... see you in a bit. We're in their room, if you want to... um... bye."

As the door to the bathroom shut, Blaine indulged in a moment of self pity. He banged his head lightly three times against the wall, then went to go act like a normal human being.

He didn't know that Kurt was doing the same thing on the other side of the door, because Blaine had had some coffee dripping from his hair onto his neck, traveling slowly past his collar, and Kurt had been a little bit distracted by the thought of where that lucky drop was going.

He hoped Blaine hadn't noticed him staring.

* * *

_[A/N: Do not hate me, for I have many many un-posted pages of this already written.]_


	28. Beginnings

_[A/N: Another flashback, I think._

_Update: I still don't own Glee. In case you were wondering.]_

* * *

_Kurt had become aware of Wes and David's combined insanity fairly shortly after he'd met them. The first real indication (of the madness to come) had occurred when Blaine was walking him out to his car, on the day he was caught spying._

What Kurt _didn't_ know was that Wes and David's presence at that table had not been Blaine's idea. In fact, Blaine had, while getting coffee, expressly forbidden them from coming to what Wes insisted on referring to as 'the interrogation', and had only consented when Wes swore, on his autographed copy of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, _that he'd behave. He'd be the perfect gentleman, boring, even, and wouldn't even mention the way Blaine's eyes had seemed to get slightly glazed with lust and tunnel vision during Teenage Dream. Blaine had thrown the nearest available object (which happened to be a lamentably non-lethal cushion) at him and gone to find Kurt again.

When the three of them had worked out that something serious was going on at McKinley (which they'd kind of figured anyway, but Kurt's tears sort of confirmed it) Wes and David had taken their dismissal with grace, for which Blaine was grateful. Still, he really shouldn't have been surprised by what happened next.

As Blaine walked Kurt out to the hall, showing him back to his car, Wes and David zeroed in like heat seeking missiles, gliding over from what had clearly been a vigil outside the hallway that lead to the common rooms.

"So, Blaine and Kurt, did you exchange info?"

"You should really come back and visit us sometime Kurt."

"Or even visit Bla – OW!"

Blaine blinked innocently, needlessly adjusting his perfectly straight tie. "Oh, I'm sorry, Wes, did I just elbow you in the ribs? I do apologize. My tie was crooked."

Wes frowned at his best friend, and David took the opportunity to address Kurt directly.

"So, Kurt, what did you think of our performance? How does our boy Blaine here measure up to your vocalists?"

Blaine shot David a look that gave him about ten minutes to live.

"It... it- you were amazing." Kurt stammered a bit then cleared his throat, which only endeared him the the three other boys further, although, it must be said, in slightly different ways.

_He's adorable_, thought Blaine. _I hope things start going better for him at school. And does that mean he's being polite, or he really liked the song? He seemed to be smiling..._

_He's adorable_, thought David. _Can we keep him and give him to Blaine as a Christmas present?_

_He's adorable_, thought Wes. _I wonder if we could cut the ignition switch on his car so he'd have to spend the night without Blaine getting suspicious_...

Fortunately Blaine managed to shake them off by the front doors, by the slightly morally questionable expedient of asking quite loudly within earshot of their french teacher whether the two of them had shown her their completed eight page papers on Charlemagne yet. As she descended upon the pair excitedly, Wes, who had not so much as glanced at the prompt yet, gave Blaine a dark look, and the smaller boy waved cheerfully to them and pulled Kurt out of the front doors.

They walked in companionable silence towards the visitor parking lot, passing the student lot on the way.

"I'm sorry about them," Blaine apologized. "They get a little too excited about new people. Also, they're a little... well, insane."

"They're nice. I like them."

"I like them too. They're my best friends. That doesn't mean I'm not occasionally afraid that I've caught some of their crazy."

Kurt smiled, pulling the shoulder strap of his bag up further and Blaine stopped himself from adjusting the younger boy's collar again. Kurt's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out.

"That must be..." his eyes filled with confusion "...Wes? He says that if you don't get my number and invite me back for a movie night, he's going to fill your shoes with jello again."

"What?" Blaine took the phone, forgetting his manners slightly. Surely enough, someone identifying themselves as Wes (and with the same appalling penchant for abbreviating words that should not be abbreviated) had said exactly that.

Kurt was confused. "How did he find my number?"

Blaine responded in the exact same way Wes would when Blaine caught up with him later. They hadn't been roommates for this long for nothing. "He has ways." He handed the phone back and Kurt pocketed it.

"But... my number isn't online."

"I know he's seems like an idiot, and he _is_ a large proportion of the time, but Wes can find _anything _online in about five minutes. It's pretty scary. Try living with him. I password protect _everything_."

"Oh." They'd reached what Blaine assumed must be Kurt's car, and there was an awkward moment. They didn't know each other well enough to hug, but it seemed a little odd to shake hands after the conversation they'd just had over coffee.

"Well, I guess -"

"You know, if you -"

They both realized at the same moment that they were talking over each other and stopped with a laugh.

"You first," Kurt insisted.

"I was just going to say... if you need anything, or...you should give me a call."

"I'm sure I'll be – it'll..." Kurt looked at his new friend. "I'd like that."

Blaine reached automatically into the pocket of his blazer, then into the pocket of his uniform slacks. "Damn. I must've left my phone in my bag. It's in the common room. Here," he held his hand out, "if it's okay I'll just text myself so I'll have your number. Then I guess you'll have mine as well. And I suppose you have Wes' too, now."

Kurt handed it over immediately. He hesitated for a second as Blaine scrolled to add himself as a contact. "I – I'll write down my number too, just in case."

Blaine looked up for a second, part of his brain asking, _'In case of what? Simultaneous failure of Wes', mine, and your phones?'_

_'But_,' another part of him argued, '_accidents do happen. He might need me. It would probably be a smart idea to..._'

Blaine realized Kurt was waiting for him to speak and cleared his throat. "Yeah, good idea.' He patted his pockets again. "I have a pen, but I don't think...' he pulled something out of his pocket. "Ah, gum wrappers. Will these do?" Kurt nodded and took the pen and wrapper, seemingly not having bothered to put any school supplies in his spy-bag, and leaned on the hood of his car to write his name and number. Blaine finished entering his contact information into the phone, just programming himself under Blaine (people were weird about their phones... Kurt's seemed to be mostly first names. Well, he could change it later if he wanted. And he didn't look to see if any guys seemed to have nicknames or endearments in their entry. Much) and then took his pen back and did the same. He was absurdly grateful that David had been going through a minty gum phase since his girlfriend had mentioned visiting this week. He'd been handing out so much over the last few days that Blaine's jaw was beginning to hurt (which had, of course, started a stream of endlessly clever jokes from Wes).

Blaine finished writing and offered both the wrapper and phone back to the younger boy, slipping the one Kurt handed him into his inside breast pocket before pulling it out and deciding it would be safer in his left pants pocket. Kurt slipped his phone into his bag, and smiled as he folded the wrapper and slid it carefully into into the outside pocket of his coat.

"I also put Wes' name in there," Blaine offered, "I hope you don't mind. Just in case he decides he misses you, and feels the need to tell you about it at great length before I can get to him."

"Thanks. I – I'll talk to you soon."

"Yeah, soon." Blaine was fingering the number in his pocket, fighting the urge to invite this new, scared boy to stay for a while. Or even transfer here, where Blaine could make sure he was safe. But he knew Kurt had to make his own choices, and asking him to essentially _move in down the hall_ was a little bit of a leap. He'd mentioned it at coffee. That was enough. "You should come back for a movie night sometime. I mean... if you'd like. It'd be... well, it seemed like you..." Blaine took a deep breath. "We'd like you to come back. To hang out. Anytime you want."

Kurt seemed surprised by this. Blaine remembered that feeling. "I'd love to. I'd better go, it's a two hour drive back..."

Blaine was torn again between a hug and a handshake. He eventually settled for a brotherly pat on the shoulder, unconsciously letting his hand tangle briefly with Kurt's in a short squeeze as he backed away. "Yeah. Lima, right." He patted his pocket. "Talk to you soon. Remember, if you – I'm here to help. If you, you know, need someone who – someone to talk to. I... I get it." _And I'd like to get you. Understand, I mean._

"I know. Thanks, Blaine, really. I'll see you." With another heartbreakingly hopeful, but also restrained, smile, Kurt got in his car and backed away, waving quickly to the private school boy who was watching him go, hands in pockets, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.

Blaine was hardly through the front doors again before Wes and David, who had apparently managed to escape Madame Lyon with a promise of excellent work in the near future, reattached themselves to him like glue. Particularly annoying glue. The kind that stuck obstinately to your fingers.

"So," David nudged, "did you get the spy's number?"

"I found it, if you didn't," Wes offered.

"I saw. Stop internet stalking him, Wes."

"Please, like you aren't on your way up to our room to do exactly that."

"Actually, I'm going to go find my phone and bag."

David held them out. "We grabbed them for you while you were out there. You may have a few texts from us."

"You shock me." Blaine took them and slung the bag over his shoulder.

"Seriously, though, is he okay?"

Wes chimed in, deadly serious. "Do we need to cut someone?"

"Yeah, we like him. And Wes knows Krav Maga."

"He's having some problems," Blaine admitted, knowing that they weren't stupid, and probably recognized more than what they were saying. "But I told him to call me – us - if he needs anything."

Both boys seemed temporarily satisfied with this, and Blaine actually thought for a moment that he might make an escape without -

"So, on an entirely different but equally important note, did you ask him to marry you yet?"

Blaine sighed. "You guys, Kurt needs a friend right now. And anyway -"

"You're a huge coward. Yeah, we know."

Blaine rolled his eyes and walked into the senior commons, preparing for a long night.

* * *

When he returned from his trip to Lima, and the confrontation with Karofsky, there was more of the same. He hadn't told them the reason he left abruptly, and they were masking their hurt with attempts at humor.

"I really hope the kissing was worth the drive," Wes prodded.

"And the extra history homework," David added.

"I am not even a little bit interested in him that way," he lied.

Wes rolled his eyes incredulously.

"Oh, please, Frodo, you made Teenage Dream an invitation to take you right then and there."

Blaine was getting a little annoyed now. Okay, maybe he'd thought Kurt was cute, but he absolutely had _not_ been flirting. Well, okay, he'd been flirting a little. But he really meant it when he said that he knew that Kurt just needed him as a friend. And Wes was just -

"I mean, it was almost like eye porn." David just looked at Wes for a moment. "Which I guess is just regular porn, but, like... in the mind." He turned to David for confirmation. "Mind porn?"

Blaine was alarmingly close to snapping by this point – not so much because of Wes' words, but because he resented the implication – which he knew, on some level, was not in the least intended – that just because he and Kurt happened to both be gay, they must immediately want to get naked and do all kinds of dirty things to one another. And the fact that that image distracted him a bit was _not the point_. It was that kind of thinking that lay at the base of the homophobia that Kurt faced – that Blaine himself had faced. That Kurt had faced in that locker room, when that idiot had... And if Wes thought that -

"God, I just want to lock the two of you in a room and see how long it takes for -"

Blaine stopped walking. Wes and David instinctively stopped with him.

Then Blaine did something he'd never done before, and not one of them had even dreamed he would ever do. He grabbed Wes by the lapel of his blazer and pushed him against the wall with a loud thump. David was too stunned to intervene. All three of them knew Wes could push Blaine off of him with half of the force in his pinky finger, but it was surprise that kept Wes still as his roommate laid into him.

"Listen to yourself, Wes. Is that what you think? That because Kurt and I both happen to be gay, we feel the sudden irresistible urge to get into each others pants? Because I thought I knew you well enough to know that you knew differently. I want to help someone, Wes – someone who needs it. Get your mind out of the gutter, and don't you _dare_ think of using Kurt's phone number for anything even mildly suggestive. Because, I swear to god, Wesley, if he doesn't ask me for help when he needs it, and I find out that _you_ are the reason... that some idiotic remark _you_ made is the reason he chooses to deal with something alone...we'll be _done_. Done. Do you under -"

"Is there a problem here, gentleman?"

None of them had noticed the teacher enter the corridor. He was new, and none of them were in his class, so he didn't know who they were. But clearly he'd seen them and come to investigate.

Blaine had let go of the fabric even before the man had alerted them to his presence. He looked a little dazed, but after a moment he seemed to snap out of it and realize what was going on. He didn't speak, though. He just stared at Wes, waiting.

Wes looked back. Both of them knew that at one word from either of them this could become a big deal very quickly.

There was still absolutely no hesitation in his voice when he answered.

"No, sir. Blaine was just showing me something he'd seen in a movie last night. I like to hear about the stunts."

The teacher looked suspicious, but relieved. "Be careful then, boys. Shouldn't you all be somewhere?"

"Yes, sir." Wes nodded at the teacher in thanks and turned back around. David tilted his head towards the end of the corridor, where a figure was already turning the corner. Wes looked after his friend.

"David, you know I didn't mean it like that. I was just -"

"I know, man. I just think that this is all hitting a little close to home."

Wes nodded again. "Do you think I should -"

"Nah. Give him a few minutes."

"Okay." Wes straightened his blazer, and wondered if Blaine realized that him being so upset by whatever Kurt was going through only supported his theory. Then he remembered the look in his best friend's eyes as he threatened someone who was close enough to be considered (and consider him) a brother, and he figured that that should be the least of his priorities.

* * *

"Hey... um... can I come in?"

Blaine was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. "Unless you're afraid of me."

Wes snorted. He couldn't help it. "Please, Frodo. Don't make me laugh."

His roommate sat up. "I'm really sorry. I totally overreacted."

He shrugged. "Yep. You want to save the physical violence for when I really, actually screw up."

"I know you don't think that."

"I _know_ you know that. Because you aren't an idiot. What's going on with Kurt?"

Blaine looked at him sharply, leaning back, and Wes rolled his eyes.

"Not you and Kurt. Just Kurt. What's got you freaking out?"

Blaine pulled his pillow over his head. Wes could barely hear him. "It's not my place to tell you."

"It's eating you from the inside out. You just threatened someone who could crush you like a bug."

It was Blaine's turn to snort, although the sound was muffled.

"Blaine, seriously. It doesn't have to be me, or David... but I don't think Kurt would want this to fester. You can't help him unless you're in good shape. Tell someone you can trust. Your dad?"

There was a long pause and then Blaine dragged the pillow off of his face.

"Kurt got kissed."

Wes' eyebrows went up. Way up.

"You mean... he found someone? Listen, man, I know that's got to hurt, but there's -"

"No. You don't understand. He _got_ kissed. It was forced on him."

Wes was beginning to get it.

"You mean..."

"One of the football players, a guy that apparently throws him in dumpsters, pushes him into lockers and douses him in sugary drinks on a fairly regular basis, seems to be having a sexual identity crisis. He kissed Kurt. Without his permission."

"That's... that's..."

"Sexual harassment? Assault? Yeah, I know."

"We've got to get him out of there." David's voice came from the doorway. Both sets of eyes flicked to him, but neither pair registered surprise.

Blaine was the first to speak. "I want to. But it's going to take time to convince him that it doesn't have to be this way."

There was a newfound seriousness to Wes' tone. "Well, tell him he needs to be here. And tell him I need names, so I can do some damage."

His roommate looked at him with a mixture of love and fear. "No, Wes. Not the answer. I appreciate that... it's not going to do any good. Kurt's... well, he's hurting, but he doesn't need violence. He needs friends who actually give a crap. Not that his other – well, it seems kind of complicated. But violence is not the answer."

Wes muttered something about that depending on the question. David entered the room properly and sat down on Wes' bed.

"How about you, Blaine? How're you holding up?"

"This isn't about me."

"Well, I'm making it about you for a few minutes. How're you doing, aside from sudden urges to beat up Wes? Because, really, who _doesn't_ have those urges occasionally?..."

Blaine seemed to consider this for a moment. "I wish I could stop it. I wish I could make him come here. I wish I could help more. And..." his face clouded.

"What, Blaine?"

He exhaled, the picture of dejection. "I'm a horrible person."

Wes actually laughed. David glared at him.

"Sorry! It was funny!"

David turned his attention back to Blaine, who looked ashamed.

"What is it?"

He hesitated. "There was a moment... I went to talk to this guy with him today, and... it didn't go well. Kurt stepped between us..." a brief smile lit up his face as he said that, then it was gone, "and he left, and... Kurt told me that the reason he was so upset was... that it was his first kiss. Well, first one that counted."

He stopped, and David knew there was more. He waited. After a minute he let himself contribute a prompt.

"And..."

Blaine covered his face with his hands. "There was a moment when I... I was jealous, okay? I was jealous that Kurt's first kiss hadn't been me. I wanted to punch Karofsky in the face, and not _just _because he hurt Kurt over and over again." It seemed to cost him something to even think about it.

Wes spent a great deal of energy keeping silent and still. David noted with slight alarm that he was surreptitiously writing down the name Karofsky on a piece of paper.

"Why exactly does that make you horrible?"

"I shouldn't have been thinking like that! Not even for a second! I mean, Kurt was upset, and I was -"

"What did you do? Did you kiss him?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what's the problem? You like him a little, okay." He ignored Wes' look. "But you're putting him first. That's good. That makes you a good person." He could see his friend trying to believe what he was saying. "Blaine, listen. You're a good friend. That's something you don't need to worry about."

His friend's eyes shifted to Wes, who had been following the conversation while staying deliberately silent. "Thanks, I guess. I still – I'll think about it. I promise. And Wes... I really am sorry about earlier."

"Ehh. I figure you probably owed me that. For the time I accidentally set fire to your guitar."

David helpfully weighed in. "Or the time he used your blazer as a towel to clean up after the paintball incident."

Blaine was with them now. "Or the time you had leaves glued all over my car because you wanted to camouflage it in the woods."

"Yours blended in better! It came off... mostly. Anyway... not the point."

His roommate raised an eyebrow at him. "Are we good?"

"Can I have your jello tomorrow? "

"I suppose."

"Then yes."

Blaine smiled. Wes, with the promise of two servings of jello at lunch (the lunch staff had wised to his game pretty quickly) pounced on him with a huge hug, and David looked on indulgently. There was muffled mumbling.

"Don't squish him, Wes. He needs to breathe. Oxygen is important for many things, including maintaining friendships with people you have no romantic feelings for except maybe a little bit." There was a shout of annoyance from somewhere.

"Hey, Blaine?" Wes stopped trying to hug Blaine to death, but didn't move.

"Mmmmf?"

"Can we invite Kurt to come watch _Galaxy Quest _with us on Sunday? We're having movie night in the senior commons. Please?"

David watched with interest the enormous effort it took Blaine not to smile."I suppose."

"Excellent." Wes dived for his phone. Blaine snatched it away.

"_I _will text him."

Wes pouted slightly, sliding off the bed. "Don't you trust me?"

"To text Kurt in an appropriate manner? Absolutely not."

Wes thought about this. Then he shrugged again and waltzed towards the door. "Probably fair. Tell him we're getting the popcorn. All he has to bring is himself." He rounded the door. "And possibly a corsage for you..."

The Latin textbook missed his head, of course. He was pretty good at dodging that kind of thing. Plenty of practice.

* * *

So... subtlety was neither Wes nor David's middle name, and never had been. Nor was it a word that could be applied to either boy in any way. Kurt had been aware of this early, and it had only become more and more clear once he transferred and actually became good friends with the two of them. For example, on Valentine's day Kurt returned to his room after class to find an irate Blaine handcuffed to his bed, with rose petals and a can of whipped cream, and a note that said "Use as you see fit."

So they did. They played scrabble until Kurt finally got a call back from Puck, who gave him detailed instructions on picking the lock to the handcuffs, and they left the whipped cream in their friends' shoes every fourth day for a month.

Four, they decided, could play at that game.


	29. Valentines

_[A/N: __There has been much happening since we last spoke. Many things have been previewed, or rumored, or leaked. I will say only this: I am very excited. Endgame, my friends. Endgame. Power couple. That is all._

_I have a tumblr now, because apparently that's what all the cool people are doing. I have no earthly idea what to do with it (or the buttons!), but if you'd like to follow me, I'm aspiringtoeloquence there too. I may post drabbles, shufflefics, teasers for future chapters, or answer questions, I guess. What should I do on tumblr, you guys? Tell me._

_The reviews for the last chapter were spectacularly lovely. I adore hearing from you all, and I try to respond as much as I can. Thank you so much!_

_You have all (I use "all" here in the lesser known way, meaning 'a couple, or one or two') been ceaseless (I use ceaseless in the... you get the idea) in your requests to see further details on the Valentine's Day incident. I was originally going to post this as a separate one shot, but that didn't end up working so well for the slushie continuation, and I finished (wrote) this this evening. I hope you enjoy.]_

* * *

Kurt didn't hate Valentine's Day.

He didn't especially like it either.

February 14th, for him, was just a day between the 13th and the 15th, which usually happened to feature an inordinate amount of other people making out and/or chocolate. That wasn't hugely uncommon in New Directions on the other 364 days of the year. He figured, though, that at Dalton, an all boys school, although there were couples (Blaine and Kurt were not _actually_ the only two homosexual males teens in the world, Wes and David just said that sometimes it _seemed_ that way, as far as either of them were concerned), the day, which happened to fall on a Monday, would not be that big a deal.

He was incorrect in this assumption.

Wes and David burst into Blaine and Kurt's room at 6:01, having gone out with their girlfriends the previous night (and consumed large amounts of chocolate).

Blaine, ever the morning person, burrowed further under his blankets and whined.

"Kurt, make them go awaaaaay!"

Kurt had adopted the imaginative technique of hiding under his pillow, but could unfortunately still hear everything that was happening.

"They're _your _friends," he complained, causing both Wes and David to scowl at him, "_you _make them go away...how?"

"I don't know," Blaine's muffled voice said desperately, "set fire to them? Or throw something shiny..."

"Blaaaaaaaaine!" Wes trilled, bouncing on his friend's bed. "Happy Vaaaaalentine's day!"

"Fuck off," said Blaine charmingly.

"Just for that," Wes sniffed, continuing to bounce, "I will not ask you to be my valentine."

David, meanwhile, was torturing Kurt. "Rise and shine! It's a day of love, and there are heart shaped pancakes for breaaaakfast!"

"Breakfast?" said Blaine, perking up immediately. "Pancakes? Kurt, there's pancakes!"

"I don't have to get up for half an hour," Kurt complained. "Go away."

"But... pancakes!"

He was not having it. "I will have coffee, and my usual breakfast, and I will do so in half an hour, when my alarm goes off." He glared at his roommate, and Blaine concentrated very hard on resisting the urge to pet him. His hair was ruffled, and he looked about as vicious as a bunny rabbit. A baby bunny rabbit.

Wes whined. "Kurt, you're no fun..."

Kurt had rolled over, and did not seem particularly bothered by this assessment.

Blaine ushered Wes and David out, promising he'd meet them downstairs after he changed.

"Hey, Kurt?"

There was a slight growl from under the covers, which Blaine was absolutely sure should not sound as sexy as it did.

"You should come to breakfast with us... It'd be fun. It's Valentine's Day..."

There was a deep sigh, and then he sat up. Blaine fought the pesky petting urge again.

"Fine. But I expect to have coffee delivered to me."

"That can probably be arranged."

Kurt nodded, and looked around for a mirror, grabbing a small handheld one on his bedside table. "Is there _pink glitter_ all over our room? Did Wes and – OH MY GOD, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT MY HAIR?"

Blaine just smiled indulgently, and went to get ready.

* * *

The pancakes were indeed heart-shaped. Or, at least, they were supposed to be.

"Mine looks kind of like a dinosaur..." Wes held it up to the light.

"I think mine's more like a cloud," David concluded. "An evil cloud... with claws. Hey, let's see what they – not fair!"

Blaine set his plate down on the table, with Kurt following close behind. "What is it?"

"Blaine got an actual heart shaped pancake!" David complained. "Why does he get the good one?"

"He probably winked at the server," Wes scowled. "He_ always_ gets them on his side."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." The boy in question reached for the syrup, which Wes had been hogging. "Kurt, blueberry, or maple? Or Raspberry? Oh, wait. You got fruit... here, have some of mine. You _have_ to try this." He cut his pancake in two and put half on his roommate's plate with a smile, in a move that caused Wes and David to contemplate strangling them both.

"Thanks," Kurt smiled gratefully. Then he looked around. "Is Valentine's Day really that big a deal here?"

Wes and David gasped.

"It's almost the _best _day," Wes whispered. "Only Halloween is better!"

"Everyone has candy, and most of the teachers are so loved up they don't care if you're late..."

"Except Baker, of course."

Hearing his teacher's name mentioned, Kurt looked up from his food, which he had been studying. "What about Baker?"

Blaine rolled his eyes as Wes leaned forward.

"Well," he said, "Baker hates Valentine's Day, ever since the year that Miss Fisher got engaged to Mr. Barnett, and they announced it on February 14th."

"He's broken-hearted," David confided. "Always gives extra homework on this day, to make his students as miserable as he is."

"This," Blaine informed Kurt, licking a dollop of syrup off of his fork in a distracting manner, "took place_ entirely_ in their minds."

"It makes sense, though!"

"Yeah! We got tons of homework on February 14th!"

"Oh," Wes added, "that reminds me!" He pulled something out of his pocket and held it above Blaine and Kurt's heads, stretching awkwardly. They both looked up. It was mistletoe.

They both blushed and started talking at once.

"That's for Christmas, Wes," Blaine hastened to point out.

"Mistletoe doesn't count on Valentine's Day," Kurt reminded him.

Wes pursed his lips unhappily at this. "I didn't realize that there was a time limit on fun," he sulked, deflating. "But I forgot that you guys are totally re-"

"So, Kurt, did you see?" Blaine cut in. "There's going to be a party tonight!"

Kurt seemed relieved by the change of topic. "Really?"

"Yeah, I think the girlfriends are coming over – it's last minute...Warblers are taking over the commons. Right guys?"

Wes still looked put out, but nodded. Kurt's smile grew.

"That's cool." He hesitated. "I mean... unless..."

As though he was programmed (which psychologically he sort of was) Blaine leaned forward in concern. "Unless what?"

He looked embarrassed. "Well, I – unless, you know, we're supposed to... bring someone." He avoided Blaine's eye. "You know... a date."

David was deeply amused by the look of horror that crossed his friend's face. "No! I mean... no. It's cool. Most people will just be hanging out. I mean... some girls will probably come over with – but no. I mean... it isn't that type of... I'm going by mys - it isn't a couple's party. If it were, I'd -"

_Say it_, David willed. _Say it. Say "I'd have invited you." Come on, Hamilton. Come on. DO it._

" - I'd... I'd have let you know."

_I am going to kill them both in their sleep._

Kurt smiled a bit at this. "Oh... I was worr – okay. Then... awesome. I'm in." He looked at his watch. "I'd better get going to class, especially if Baker hates everything more than usual today." He picked up his bag. "See you later?"

David nearly vomited at the way Blaine's eyes followed his movements, trying to find a reason to leave with him. He decided it was Valentine's Day, and he should throw the oblivious idiot a bone. "Hey, Blaine, didn't you say you wanted to drop off that form to Cranshaw this morning?"

"Huh?" said Blaine. _Honestly_. This was _ridiculous_. "Oh, yeah..." He saw dawning comprehension on his friend's face. "Hey, that's right by you! I mean..." he cleared his throat in a way that fooled no one. Except, David conceded, possibly Kurt, who was the only human being on earth who seemed to be as emotionally oblivious as Blaine. "I could walk with you, Kurt, you know, if you wanted company."

"Sure," Kurt smiled. "Let's go."

Blaine took a swig of his coffee, and they hurried off. Wes took this opportunity to steal the second heart shaped pancake (because Blaine's smile could apparently get him _two._.. which was so very unfair).

"Wes," David decided, watching the pair leave, "I think drastic action is called for."

Wes dropped his fork. "This is what I've been saying for months!"

"I have had a thought. Do you still have that box I got you for your birthday?"

Wes' face lit up with a truly evil grin. "Do I ever..."

* * *

When he headed back to his room at 5:45 that evening, Kurt had to admit that Wes and David may have been right. Baker had not only assigned them more homework than usual, he had also given a pop quiz, and announced a test that week. That, combined with a make-up Chemistry lab, meant that he only had about thirty minutes to get ready for the party if he wanted to make the cut-off between fashionably late and I-just-kinda-forgot. He was mentally rifling through his wardrobe, as he paused outside the door to get his keys out, when he heard a voice from inside the room.

"Wesley and David, if that is YOU then I _swear to god_, I am going to _kill _both of you and make it look like an accident! If you do not let me out of here _right now_, I am going to -" He opened the door, and dropped his bag.

There were candles.

There were rose petals all over his bed.

But that was not the _only _thing on his bed.

There was also a boy.

A _specific _boy.

In handcuffs.

Handcuffed to his _bed_.

With a bottle of whipped cream.

Did we already establish the boy? In the handcuffs?

And a note, which Kurt picked up.

It said "_Use as you see fit."_

Kurt put the note down.

The dreams that started like this usually went very, very well.

He pinched himself, just to check. It hurt.

"Oh, thank god," groaned Blaine, looking up at him like he was his salvation. "You have to get me out of here."

Substitute "here" for other things, and Kurt had definitely had this dream once or twice. Or something similar, anyway.

He was lying on Kurt's bed, still in uniform, but his blazer had obviously been discarded before his imprisonment, and his tie had been thrown on the floor. He was barefoot, and his shirt was untucked, with the top couple of buttons open. The light flickered over him in a very pleasant way.

Kurt needed a minute.

"Wes and David," Blaine supplied, by way of explanation, "need to die a slow and horrible death. Shortly, I am going to fulfill that need."

"What are they..."

"They are unbalanced. They got me while I was studying. What time is it?"

"Almost six," Kurt managed watching the flames dance over his roommate's features. His roommate. Tied to his bed.

"_Three hours_! They left me here for_ three hours!_" He tried to get up, but the shackles pulled him back. "Aaaaarrgh! You have got to get the key!" He looked a little panicked. "Please, Kurt, go get the key?"

Kurt nodded, still incapable of speech. The thoughts he was having... Candles, and rose petals...whipped cream...

"Kurt?" Hazel eyes looked at him anxiously, and the candlelight made them more gold than brown. "Are you okay? I'm sorry if this freaked you out -"

"N-no. I'll... I'll go to their room. I'll... I'll get the key." He backed away, part of his brain wondering if Blaine staying there for a while would be such a bad thing. He immediately squashed this thought like an annoying insect, and walked down the hall.

There was a note on the dry erase board on Wes and David's door.

"_Kurt, we've gone to pick up the girlfriends. Phones are not on. Hope you like your present – we wanted you to enjoy your first Dalton Valentine's Day. And no, we haven't left the key. See you later... or in the morning._

_- W&D_

_P.S. Use protection. We know Blaine is a gentleman, so recently we hid some in the back of his bottom drawer in the case of such an emergency. You are welcome._

_P.P.S. If there's a fire or anything, and we killed Blaine accidentally, we apologize._

_P.P.S.S. Actually, you might want to blow out the candles when you get this, just to be safe. We won't leave 'til we see you come back._

_P.P.P.S.S. Have fun._"

He looked down the corridor. They were gone. He blinked.

Was there etiquette for this situation? How do you tell the boy chained to your bed that you can't let him go just yet? Was there a book on that?

He walked back to his room. Blaine looked up, still on the bed. Obviously.

"Did you get it? Did you kill them?"

Kurt was holding the note, and folded it, moving to put it in his pocket. "They went out. They'll be back in a while."

Blaine's eyes widened in horror, then zeroed in on the piece of paper. "You have GOT to be - what is that?"

"Nothing..."

"Kurt, give it to me."

_Stop it, brain._

"No. It'll make you mad."

He seethed a little. "Kurt, I'm _fairly certain_ I'm there already. My best friends chained me to _a bed_." His eyes glowed at his roommate in an unfair way. "Kurt..."

He handed the note over. Blaine read it awkwardly, because he was working mostly with one hand, and his ears turned red. He was quiet when he spoke.

"I am actually going to kill them this time."

Kurt, seeing his genuine distress, tried to be comforting. "Listen, it really isn't a big deal -" He saw the incredulous look thrown his way - "I mean, it doesn't have to be. I'll call Puck, I'm sure he'll know how to get these off – the handcuffs, I mean, not – anyway, and then we can... go to the party. Or whatever. I'll call him now."

Blaine looked a little bit hopeful as Kurt pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He waited for the phone to ring. It rang... and rang... and rang... he grimaced at his roommate and mouthed 'Voicemail, sorry...'

"Hey, Puck, it's Kurt. I know this is weird, and I swear this is not what you think it's going to be, which, incidentally, I can't wait to hear the theories on, because I'm sure they'll be astonishing, and not at all crude -" he saw Blaine's panicked expression - "anyway, a friend of mine is in... a bit of a dilemma, and needs to know how to get out of a pair of handcuffs. I'm calling in that favor. You know the one. Call me back as soon as possible, please... thanks." He hung up. Blaine looked miserable. "I'm sure he'll call back."

He sighed. "You should go hang out at the party until he does. There's no point in both of us being stuck up here. Go ahead."

Kurt walked over to the light switch and turned it on. "Don't be ridiculous." He blew out the candles one by one.

"No," Blaine insisted. "You should go, really, I'll be fine. Have fun." He tried to smile.

"Like I'm going to leave you up here alone, chained to _my bed, _on Valentine's Day."

"I thought you didn't like Valentine's Day?"

"I don't." He shrugged. "I don't hate it, either. I've never had a reason to form an opinion. But what kind of friend would I be if I left you up here by yourself to go watch all the Warblers make-out with their significant others while pretending to watch movies? I'd much rather stay here, anyway." He realized what he'd said. "Hanging out, I mean, instead of watching...Um. Anyway. What do you want to do?"

Blaine smiled at him and shrugged. "I don't know..." _Do not say it. Do not say it. "_Board game?"

_Good mouth. Well done._

"Scrabble?" Kurt suggested.

He grinned. "My father is a literature professor, Hummel. I will eviscerate you like a designer-loving bug."

"I'm hearing a lot of talk, Hamilton..."

"Get the damn scrabble board. It's on."

Blaine pursed his lips in amusement, and Kurt tried not to look directly at them. Or at his roommate's stomach, which was partially revealed whenever he moved, trying to get comfortable. It was just slivers of skin... and muscle... and – _Scrabble. Gotta get scrabble_.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, as they set up the board, "I think you should hold off on the murder."

Blaine just looked at him.

"I think there is fun to be had here." He cleared part of the bed of rose petals, and threw both notes on the floor, curling up at the opposite end.

"I'm feeling pretty solid about the whole torture and pain idea."

"No, think about it. Wes and David won't tell anyone what they did until they think it's worked. Which won't be until tomorrow morning..."

They both blushed as they remembered what "it" was. Kurt continued.

"So, yelling at them tonight won't accomplish anything, except letting everyone know what's going on."

Blaine nodded. "Okay, but -"

"In the meantime, we can strike back."

He raised an eyebrow in interest. "How?"

Kurt, who had been organizing his tiles as he spoke, just smiled as he set down his first word.

_W- A – R._

"Oh," said Blaine, "I'm liking the way you think, Hummel."

They plotted, and laughed, and played scrabble, and Kurt decided that Valentine's Day was looking up.


	30. Saviors

[A/N: A quick, last minute update, because this fic now has over seven hundred reviews. SEVEN HUNDRED. I am freaking out a little bit.

I figured that the 700th reviewer should get a prize, and it turns out to be inoubliable, who conveniently asked for something in the comment: The Puck/Kurt phone call. So I wrote it (very) late last night, and I give it to you. Because you are all awesome.

In addition - Tumblr is both the most intimidating and hilarious thing in the world. ]

* * *

"Puck?"

"Yeah, it's me. What's up, Hummel? Something about handcuffs?"

"Yes. Thank you for calling me back, I know it's Valentine's Day – Blaine, I'm asking him, stop it!"

"Yeah, well, I'm heading over to see Santana in a bit, but what's up? Must be big to call in a favor."

"It is. You see, my friend got himself in a bit of a... sticky situation."

"That's what -"

"Puck. Not now, please."

"Okay..."

"Well, he's... well, he's handcuffed to the bed - Stop it, Blaine, what do you want me to do, lie? He needs to know what's wrong so he can help. Don't... do not. Fine – Puck, sorry about th – are you _laughing_?"

"You... you called me, because one of your kinky sex games went wrong, and Dalton boy is – he's – sorry, I – he's... _handcuffed to a bed_?"

"It was not a kinky sex game! Wes and David thought that – Blaine, stop! Yes, thank you, I am aware that it's not what he thinks. Am I _ever _aware... I am trying to explain. Yes, of course I'll tell him. Anyway, Wes and David thought it would be amusing to handcuff him to the bed."

"Whose bed?"

"What?"

"Whose bed?"

"What could that possible matter?"

"I'm just curious."

"Listen, Noah, I really don't -"

"You want prep boy free, right?"

"His name is Blaine. And yes, I do."

"Whose bed?"

"... Mine."

"..._hee hee hee_... ha..."

"Puck? Are you laughing again?"

"Oh, this is too good... Santana is going to love this..."

"Noah, if you tell Santana – or anyone – about this, I will tell _everyone_ why I had a favor to call in with you."

"You _wouldn't._.."

"Wouldn't I?"

"Jeez, Kurt, lighten up. I was just kidding around. Okay, what kind of cuffs are they?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Well, are they silver, or double chained, or pink and fuzzy with -"

"Puck!"

"Well?"

"Silver. With... pink."

"Ah."

"What is it?"

"Your boyfriend is kinky. I respect that, even though I _so_ do not need the visual."

"NOAH! He is not my boyfriend, and for the last time – Blaine, you really need to stop moving, you're going to hurt your wrist – Puck, I swear to god if you say 'That's what she said' I am going to -"

"I think this is my favorite phone call ever."

"Handcuffs, Puck."

"Is there writing on them?"

"No."

"Or a date? Do you know how old they are?"

"They aren't mine! How would I know!"

"Ask the boyfriend."

"He is _not_ my – they aren't _his_ either."

"Does he remember what the key looked like?"

"I don't know – Blaine, did you see the keys? - No, he didn't. Is that a problem?"

"Not really, I was just trying to get an idea of how kinkily this all started."

"For the last time, Puck, this was an accident!"

"You accidentally cuffed your roommate to your bed on Valentine's Day?"

"No! Someone else did...on purpose."

"Uh-huh. Maybe we should stick to the subject at hand. Don't want over sharing."

"Listen, it – Blaine, I swear to god, if you don't stop – it doesn't matter. Whatever. Just tell me how to get them off without the key."

"Do you have a shim?"

"What the hell is that?'

"It's a tool that -"

"Why the hell would I have a shim? What possible use would I -"

"Well, it would be pretty useful about now."

"No. I do _not_ have a shim, or whatever it is."

"Fine. Hope they're old cuffs, then. In 1996 they started making them more difficult."

"What do I do?"

"Do you have an unbent paper clip?"

"Hang on... yes."

"Okay, look at the arm – of it, not him, though I'm sure you'd rather -."

"Blaine, I need to be able to see. Let me sit between – oh, sorry, I – yeah, I know. It's just... Okay. Move the...yeah. Ah... yep. I'm good here. Puck?"

"Bend the paperclip so it has a little handle."

"Alright."

"Now, ignore the lock. Where the arm of it meets the frame – the bit that swings open - there should be a little gap."

"Yes, there is."

"Push the paperclip into the gap until you feel pressure on it."

"Okay, I...Blaine, stay still! God, you're worse than – okay, there! What now?"

"Feel it."

"Puck..."

"No, I'm serious. Move it around, stick it in, keep the pressure. And I don't just mean that as a -"

"_Puck. Stop._ Okay, I'm - oh my god! I did it!"

"Guess they were an old design."

"Thank you so much, Noah!"

"It's all good. We square now?"

"Yes, we are. Th - Ooof, Blaine, hang on a second. Puck, I'd better let you go, but thank you so much. Hold on, Blaine wants to say thanks too."

"Okay, but -"

"Puck? I mean... Noah? This is Blaine Hamilton. Thank you _so much _for your help, you have no idea -"

" 's cool, man. No worries. Just... don't screw Kurt over, okay? Because that would not be cool."

"I'm not even... we're... I... I promise you, I won't. Ever."

"Good. Have fun."

"Yeah, you too. I'm going to give the phone back now."

"Puck, what did you say to him?"

"Nothing, Hummel, nothing. Listen, I gotta go, but have fun and stay safe, alright?"

"Puck, for the last time, I -"

"Bye, Hummel."

"Bye, Puck. Thanks."


	31. Blessings

_[A/N: This is the third time I have had to type up this author's note. I am displeased._

_So. Lots of things._

_Firstly, I got a message about spoilers in my writing. Here is my policy. I read them, but I respect that not everyone does. And, honestly, this fic is so AU already, that any spoilers I gave would be totally unintentional/out of context. But I will never give spoilers in my chapters without warning. The same goes for my author's notes. _

_So, in summary: I do not own them. Fox, or Ryan Murphy does. Except Bev and Hal. They are mine, and I like them_

_Lots more to say, but it'll wait 'til next time. See you on the other side.]_

* * *

Blaine was sitting in his kitchen at home, eating a bowl of cornflakes, the one that he had been craving all night, when his phone, which was sitting next to him on the counter, started ringing. He recognized the ringtone and picked up without thinking, forgetting that he had a mouth full of cereal.

" 'lo?"

"CAROLE IS PREGNANT!" yelled a deafening voice in his ear.

Blaine swallowed with difficulty, as he was grinning from ear to ear. "Kurt, that's great! Tell her congratulations!"

"What is it, darling?" asked Beverley from the coffeepot. Blaine covered the phone briefly with his hand.

"Carole's pregnant," he continued to grin.

Beverley clapped her hands delightedly. "A baby? How wonderful! Tell her she must come over...we'll -"

"Mom," Blaine pointed out reasonably, "you've never met her. I haven't even seen his family since the hospital."

"But, a _baby_..." Beverly beamed, as though this outweighed everything, especially pesky details like them being practically strangers.

Which, her son admitted mentally, it sort of did. But he was on the phone. Phone. In hand. Yes.

"Kurt? - sorry about that, my mom's very excited for you all -"

"Blaine, I'm going to be a big brother! Oh my god, this is going to be so good, I can -"

He listened indulgently for a minute as Kurt rattled off all of the things he was going to teach his new sibling to do. Color co-ordination was obviously a high priority.

"When is the baby due?"

"August, I think. That's what the doctor said. It's a honeymoon baby, Blaine! Isn't that just the cutest thing you've ever heard in your life?"

He was laughing now. He couldn't help it. Kurt was just completely adorable when he was excited. He couldn't even be jealous.

"It really is," he replied. "Give everyone my l-congratulations."

"And mine," chirped Bev, who had stolen Blaine's laptop from the sideboard and was looking up baby clothes. Blaine rolled his eyes.

"And my mom's. And Dad, even though he's not here right now. He'll be delighted."

"The whole Hamilton family," Kurt grinned into the phone. Blaine could tell. "Got it." There was a murmur on the other end of the line, then Kurt's voice came back apologetically. "Hey, I have to go, they just told us, so we're going out to brunch to celebrate, but I wanted to tell you now. I'll text you later?"

"Please." Blaine paused, and admitted to himself that he had a brief flash of jealousy. "You're going to be an awesome big brother, Kurt."

He giggled. "I know, right?" He was silent for a moment, then grew serious. "Thanks, Blaine. Really. I – I'll talk to you later."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Blaine put his phone down and turned to his mother thoughtfully. "Hey, Mom..."

* * *

Hours later he got a text. He was sitting curled up on the couch in the library when his phone buzzed insistently.

_'Flowers, Blaine? Again? Really?'_

He flushed. Was that bad? He'd thought it would be good. He should have never listened to his mother...

_'Didn't Carole like them?'_

Oh, please let him have not screwed up. Please.

_'Like? Finn and I have spent the last twenty minutes hearing about how you are proof that chivalry is not dead. Carole keeps interrupting her speech to wink at me. You have some explaining to do, Hamilton.'_

He actually sighed in relief.

_'I'm sorry that my inherent charm has made your life more difficult. ;)'_

The reply was instantaneous.

_'No more than usual.'_

What the hell did that mean? He was distracted from ruminating on that subject, however, by another quick-fire text.

_'Anyway, excited to be back at school on Monday?'_

Well, that was easy.

_'You know it. Besides, my mother is now picking out baby clothes for your younger sibling. You might want to warn your parents.'_

He sent it, then added:

_'And she keeps giving me this look, like if I don't get on providing her with grandchildren pretty soon she's going to start trying to set me up with women. The perils of being an only child/miracle baby.'_

He went back to his book, trying not to stare at his phone, or fall off the couch when it finally buzzed a minute later.

_'My parents are already convinced that your family is perfect. The Hamilton roses are now in the center of the dining room table. Also, apparently you are just the sort of young man I should be looking for. Still. Like the last time I got this speech. Months ago. Just for informational purposes.'_

Do not flirt. Do not flirt.

_'Well, it's lucky you found me then.'_

Damn.

_'I think so. :)'_

A moment later his phone shook again:

_'Also, your mom wouldn't do that, miracle boy.'_

Blaine tried to stop his heart from beating right out of his chest.

_'Maybe not, but she's been bitten by the baby bug.'_

_'Tell her she can borrow mine.'_

_'I'm sure she'll appreciate that.'_

Blaine got called to dinner then, so he said goodnight, but laying in his room that night he dreamed about a baby with deep blue eyes, and dark curly hair. And then he woke up and decided that he was definitely a ridiculous human being for actually being upset at the way that human reproduction worked. He was seventeen, for crying out loud. It was just that he'd always kind of wanted a younger sibling. He smiled. Maybe Kurt's younger brother or sister would look or act a little like him. That would be one adorable baby.


	32. Stories

_[A/N:__ I need a gif or photoshop with my new mantra. Can someone make me a Klaine tumblr image? - "Endgame, bitches." (I am just saying.) I will love you forever._

_Next time I have things to say. For now, enjoy, and let me know what you are thinking.]_

* * *

Wes and David did a fair number of stupid things.

It would not be inaccurate to say that their quota of stupid things accomplished annually vastly exceeded the statistical average.

They'd set fire to things.

They'd glued doors shut.

They had handcuffed Blaine to his roommate's bed.

They had fallen off things, or _on_ things, or _down_ things more times than anyone could count.

(Inexplicably, they still had obscenely high GPAs, and were feared as Warblers council members – well, Wes was, anyway. It really was remarkable.)

So, a bruise or two was not unheard of, nor was it noteworthy.

When Wes walked into class, pretty early in the year, with a couple of scrapes to the face, and a bruise on his jaw, and David followed with a sore shoulder, they both explained to Blaine (who was worried about Kurt, who was still at McKinley, even a few days after Karofsky had kissed him, and not really at his most suspicious or observant) that they'd tried to slide down the banisters in the entrance hall, and it had gone badly. He looked at them, told them that they were idiots, and that he'd wondered where they were yesterday afternoon, and went back to staring at his phone worriedly. They exchanged a quick, relieved glance.

But, when Wes came into class one day, a few weeks later, with a black eye, and David was limping slightly, it was noteworthy. It was noteworthy as hell. Only, Blaine wasn't there to ask. Because he was still with Kurt, in the hospital, after the attack. So Michael did.

"What the hell happened to the two of you?"

Wes opened his mouth and announced that they'd fallen off the roof of David's car while trying to recreate a scene in _The Dark Knight_, at the same time that David explained they had been sword fighting in the common room with PVC weapons that had been a little less padded than they should have been.

Everyone looked at them curiously, but ultimately dismissed it as another thing about Wes and David that didn't make sense, and went back to their lives. Except Michael, who kind of suspected, but wasn't really close enough to Blaine at that point to ask him about it. Wes and David, who had looked slightly panicked at this failure of corresponding alibis, relaxed as everyone went back to business, and by the time Blaine was back at school a few days later, and asked them what had happened to them, they were able to spin a tale of adventure that made even Blaine, worried and tired as he was, smile a little.

And that was a victory.

* * *

Puck was determined that if the law wasn't going to punish the morons that attacked Kurt, then he was. So when he heard Azimo in the locker room one day, making some thinly veiled comment about Hummel bleeding rainbows, he cornered him and informed him that he was going to suffer. Before he threw the first punch, he was briefly confused by Azimo's mocking enquiry as to whether he was sending his prep-school fairy army after him again.

Puck shrugged it off and broke his nose.


	33. Messages

Blaine was mystified. He had no idea what was wrong.

Wes' car was dead, so Blaine had agreed to drop him off on Saturday, to see his girlfriend. Kurt had mentioned that he had some vitally important shopping to do (apparently moisturizer was no laughing matter, he had been scolded), so they'd gone to the mall after Wes had been safely delivered. Blaine had suggested that they get coffee before driving back to school.

They'd settled in a cozy cafe – Kurt went to grab the comfortable chairs, while Blaine went to order, chatting amiably to the barista as he made their drinks. Not only was the guy wearing a t-shirt with one of Blaine's favorite bands on it, it also turned out that his younger sister had been in Vocal Adrenaline, so he had witnessed the Warbler's defeat at sectionals the previous year. Blaine told him, as he thanked him for the drinks, that they'd briefly considered doing on of the band's song's a cappella that year, but it had been too difficult to arrange it for the group. He sang a few lines of it, and they laughed. Then he went to find Kurt, who fixed him with a very strained smile. Blaine noticed, but tried to dismiss it, managing to smile back.

"Medium non-fat no-whip caramel latte for you...' he offered the cup, and Kurt took it. "And a medium cup of deliciousness for me."

Kurt eyed him. "Are we going through another raspberry zebra mocha phase?"

Blaine, relieved at the casual tone, smiled earnestly and held up his cup. "Non-fat, thank you." He took a long sip. "Mmm... sugary goodness."

"You know, you really -" He has started to take a sip of his latte, holding it up in a mirroring gesture, but suddenly stopped and pursed his lips."

"What's wrong? Do you need more caramel? Or did I get it wrong, I can-"

"It's fine," Kurt said shortly. He took another dainty sip, then put the cup down quickly.

They drank their coffee under a veil of sudden and inexplicable awkwardness. Blaine tried everything to start up a conversation – politics, fashion, the book he knew Kurt was reading, the idiocy of their friends, how much Kurt must miss New Directions... but Kurt didn't seem to want to talk. And Blaine replayed the last few hours over in his head, wondering if something had happened, if he'd said something, to make Kurt not want to be around him anymore. Meanwhile, while not letting himself enter into conversation, Kurt seemed determined to pretend (unconvincingly) that nothing was wrong.

After an hour of this – and oh, god, how Blaine hated it – they'd both finished their coffee (well, Kurt had drunk his rather quickly, Blaine had stretched his out, hoping something would change) and Kurt stood up.

"We should probably go." It was impersonal, detached, and Blaine wanted to shake him.

Instead, he also stood and moved to grab their cups, to throw them away. "Yeah, I guess."

This wasn't them. It wasn't right.

Before he could grab Kurt's cup, his friend caught his arm. He was pale.

"Wait... it -" he hesitated, then seemed to decide something, then slipped the sleeve off of his cup and handed it to Blaine. "This is yours, I think. I'll meet you outside. I need some air."

He hurried out.

Blaine blinked, then glanced down at the cardboard in his hand.

"_Chris – (614) 555-4627_" Then a smiley face.

_Oh_. _What_?

He wanted to run after him, but he still had this thing, the thing that, unbelievably, seemed to be the reason that Kurt was so upset. He didn't intend to use it, but it seemed rude to throw it away. The guy was _right there_ after all. Blaine closed his eyes for a second.

He had never been good at this kind of thing. In fact, he was pretty terrible at everything to do with competent flirting, and boys in general. Obviously.

He walked over to the counter. "Hey, um..."

The barista looked up and smiled. "Hey. Another latte?"

"Actually, the latte wasn't... I..." he put the sleeve on the counter. "I'm flattered, really. But I can't. I- my -"

"Damn. All the cute ones are taken." His smile, which had faltered, brightened sincerely. "It's all good. I didn't mean to cause any trouble." He gestured to the door. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that the two of you...I should have. It was...but you can't blame a guy for trying." He shrugged, and Blaine thought that, if things weren't the way they were, he might have thought this guy was cute. I mean, he was cute. Definitely. But he lacked the magic ingredient.

"Oh, we're not... I... thanks. I have to go."

Blaine got out of there before he made things worse.

Kurt was, as promised, waiting for him outside, his cheeks flushed from the cold.

"I have a headache. Let's go." He turned, and they started to walk down the street.

"Kurt..."

"You should call him," he said, with a tone that tried very hard to be indifferent. "He's cute. You seemed to get along."

"Kurt -"

"You two would make a cute couple." He was walking faster now.

Blaine shrugged, and grabbed his arm to slow him down. "He's not my type. As I told him, I'm flattered, but not that interested."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, but didn't move his arm out of the grip. "Cute, caffeine distributing boy isn't your type?"

He smiled. "Definitely not."

They were still walking towards Blaine's car.

"What is?"

"Hmm?"

"You know. What's your type?"

_DANGER, WILL ROBINSON. DANGER, DANGER._

"That would be telling," Blaine finally grinned.

Kurt rolled his eyes, but smiled, and his face lit up again.

"Hey, can you help me with my french essay?"

He tried to be stern. "I told you that you should have started it last night, instead of us watching four hours of _How I Met Your Mother_."

Blaine pouted as he unlocked his car... Kurt couldn't stop his lips from twitching slightly.

"Fine, but I want to pick the alarm for the next two weeks."

"Four days."

"Bonne chance."

"A week."

"A week, and you can't complain if I choose Gaga."

"A week, with a limit of one Gaga."

Kurt considered this as he climbed in. "Deal. But no more Stones on Classic Mondays. I want to keep liking Paint It Black, and it isn't a pleasant song to start the day with."

He put his keys in the ignition and offered his hand. "Deal."

They shook on it, then smiled for a minute before each took their hands back, letting their fingers linger.

Kurt cleared his throat and commented on the mildness of the weather.


	34. Accidents

_[A/N: Everything is Klaine, and nothing hurts. I am so happy right now. Have another chapter._

_Apologies to my tumblr followers during the episode tonight. I went a little bit crazy. But, I am just saying, my only criticism: Blaine Anderson. Have YOU FORGOTTEN YOUR MANNERS? DO NOT TALK WITH YOUR MOUTH FULL OF BISCOTTI) (should that have a spoiler alert? Nah. I figure that's okay.)_

_But enough with the talking (putting off more author's note stuff 'til next time again).]_

* * *

The moment that Kurt realized he was actually head over heels in love was not exactly on a day that was turning out to be one of the most thrilling of his life.

I mean, he'd had his suspicions already. He knew that he loved Blaine as a person, and friend, and he knew he found him as attractive as it is possible to find another human being without the universe imploding. He'd even mentioned it jokingly to a select few people (well, a couple. One. Maybe two.). He just kind wondered if there _was _a real label for that – and sometimes, in brief moments, he doubted if there really was anything more. He loved his friend. Why shouldn't that be enough? He hadn't got the right to expect more. But the moment he realized he was in love – like, the earth shattering, want-to-be-next-to-you-to-dry-your-tears-and-let-you-dry-mine kind of love? Yeah, that day had not been going so well. Not his best day ever.

He was at home for the long weekend (Dalton had given it's students Friday off before a week of exams began), and was, truth be told, kind of missing school. He adored his family, and felt their absence while he was away, but he also felt like a child of two worlds now. There was home, with dad, and Carole, and Finn (and Rachel most of the time), and his almost sibling and all his New Directions family, and then there was school. His and Blaine's room. Study sessions late at night in the commons. Wes drawing on David's face while he slept, so for most of the next morning he'd be walking around with a duck drawn on his forehead. Blaine tossing him an apple at lunch, making sure he was eating properly, or frowning and arguing his disapproval whenever Wes made a particularly tasteless joke at Kurt's expense. Forcing Blaine to go to sleep if he was up late writing a new song. The moments when they hugged for just a second or two longer than two friends typically did. He just... kind of missed that.

But he'd be back there on Monday, and his friends, who had all opted to stay at school, would have adventures to tell. The three of them had been treating the weekend like it was Christmas at Hogwarts. When he'd left Wes had been talking enthusiastically about moving all the mattresses from the dorms into the common room and bouncing around on them. Or ordering a few thousand plastic balls and turning his and David's room into a ball pit. Kurt dearly hoped he had not been talked out of either of these schemes. Aside from a few quick texts, he hadn't talked to anyone from Dalton since Thursday night, when he'd driven back home. He'd just been too busy trying to spend time with all the friends who were complaining that he didn't visit often enough (which may have been true, but he was only one person for crying out loud...he couldn't be everywhere!) and with his family. So on Saturday night he was driving home from dinner, having caught up with Santana and Brittany's latest sexual exploits (both together and separately). And it was so miserable outside, with the rain flinging itself at the windscreen, and he was so distracted thinking about everything, that he didn't notice the car in front of him brake until it was too late. He didn't have enough time to stop completely. He was only going about five miles an hour when he hit. But, as is true with most of these things, it seemed far bigger than it was and the moments before impact seemed the longest of Kurt's life.

In shock, Kurt pulled over to the side of the road and got out to check on the occupant of the other car. It was a businessman, who had already taken out his blackberry and started barking into it about moving his late meeting up because some obnoxious kid didn't know how to drive. Ordinarily Kurt would have told him where he could stick his blackberry, possibly in such a colorful way that the man wouldn't feel sure he was being insulted. But he was in shock, he was getting cold and wet, and he was terrified of what his father was going to say about the lamentable shape of his car, whose hood had been crushed in significantly. So he was a little less than battle ready. Tears of frustration and humiliation wended their way into his eyes.

After exchanging information with the scornful and patronizing man, and calling his father to come check out the damage, Kurt found himself by the side of the road, cold, alone, and with absolutely nothing to stop the tears that began to flow down his cheeks. He knew on some level that it wasn't as big a deal as he was making it, that it was just a car and his Dad would be more concerned with his safety, but he couldn't help it. He wanted a hug, eyes meeting his, or a friendly voice in his ear, reassuring him that everything would be okay.

A moment later it startled him when he realized whose eyes and words he wanted more than anything right then. Kurt took out his phone without thinking and hit two on his speed dial, waiting to hear that voice, tears of humiliation and loneliness still crawling down his face.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Kurt! What's up?" Right then those were the three most beautiful words in the English language.

A voice in the background asked, "Miss us horribly yet?"

A third voice responded. "Of course he does. We're fantastic."

"Shut up, guys. Sorry, Kurt, they kind of have cabin fever. You're new and exciting – _David, stop it!_- What's happening? How's home?" There was a smile in his voice, and Kurt could see it. He could hear it. If he wasn't sure it made no logical sense, he would have sworn he could smell it.

"I...got in a car accident."

The sound of the smile was immediately gone, replaced with fear and urgency. "Are you alright? Where are you? Are you at a hospital? Is anything broken? Did you hit your head? Are you bleeding? Have you called an ambulance? Please answer some of these questions before I go completely insane." There was murmuring in the background but it was shushed by a click.

"I'm... fine. Just freaked out. And I think I may have totaled my car."

"Fuck the car." Blaine's response was dismissive - he was focused again. "Tell me about you. Is someone on their way? Is there someone there?"

"No... I mean... there was, but...the guy left after I got the information... my Dad's coming, though, I... just wanted to... I don't know why I called... I was just..."

"You don't ever need a reason to call me."

"I know, but..."

"Never." His voice was insistent.

"Okay. I just... really wanted to hear your voice." Did he just say that out loud? Clearly he was in shock. There was no way he would say that.

There was silence on the end of the phone for a second, which kind of proved to Kurt that he had. He was seriously considering just hanging up when Blaine's voice was there again, calm as ever.

"Well, you've got it. For as long as you want."

There was a pause while Kurt smiled at this. _How about forever?_

Then Blaine added, "And I'll be with you in about an hour."

"No, that's ridiculous, you don't need to drive ov-"

"Kurt, I'm in my car already. Don't start an argument you aren't going to win."

"But it isn't important. There's no reason for you to -"

"Yes there is."

"You're miles away."

"I'll be there in an hour."

"That isn't safe. Don't be absurd."

"I'll stop it if you will."

Kurt closed his eyes.

"Blaine, please be safe."

A pause.

Then: "I will. I promise. But I'm still coming over there."

"I'm a mess. I look terrible."

"I so very much don't care, as long as you're safe. Are you out in the cold? Get back in your car right now."

And that was it. That was the moment. Not specifically because of what he had said, although that was a part of it, but because Kurt realized in that moment that he wanted nothing more than to have Blaine there. Even with his lips chapped, his hair a mess, and the rain turning him into something resembling a drowned rat, Kurt (who generally made significant efforts to never let anyone see him before he was fully groomed) wanted to let his best friend look him in the eye, hold him and tell him that it was alright. He was the only person he'd believe those words from. And as his dad pulled up behind him Kurt finally put the feelings to the term he'd heard bandied about in movies and musicals since he was born. He was in love. And it felt right. It didn't really matter in that moment that he was fairly certain he was alone in the feeling. It was every song he'd ever mocked on the radio, and that was okay. And, hearing that voice continue to tell him that if he didn't get somewhere warm it was just going to drive faster to get there sooner, he knew that if Blaine wasn't in love with him, he at least cared _a lot_. And Kurt would take that. That was more than enough – more than he could even begin to contemplate deserving.

* * *

When a familiar dark green car pulled to the side of the road later, Kurt was sitting in the passenger seat of his Dad's car, waiting until his father had finished discussing things with the tow-truck driver. Blaine was still on the other end of the line, having impatiently brushed aside Kurt's assertions that he shouldn't have called him, everything was fine, and Blaine might as well go back to school. When he opened his drivers side door he hung up his phone, running over to see Kurt for himself, ignoring the fact that both Burt and the man were looking at him (running through the rain in his black peacoat over pajama bottoms) like he might be crazy. Burt didn't seem to recognize him for a moment, but once he saw the face of the new arrival he smiled slightly and waved a hand in acknowledgement.

Blaine had immediately ran over to the truck and flung the door open. He took his friend's hand and pulled him out, giving him a once over that Kurt found himself wishing was happening under entirely different circumstances. Still a little dazed, he took the time to reflect that his roommate's glasses, with curly un-gelled hair, was something that he'd missed seeing – he usually wore contacts, and while the frames of the glasses did sometimes hide a little of his eyes, they also added a wonderful _reality_ to him that Kurt found intoxicating. Then he abruptly realized he was being addressed and should probably pay attention.

"Kurt? Are you okay? Can you hear me? Do you need me to take you to the hospital, 'cause I -"

"I'm fine." He'd answered all these questions already, first over the phone, then for his father and the finally for the police, who'd driven by, filed a report, and left. Blaine looked unconvinced, and was still running his arms up Kurt's, checking for bruises. "Nothing hurts, Blaine, and Dad reckons the car'll probably be fine. I told you, I was just in shock. There was really no need for you to -"

Blaine held up his hand in a gesture that said '_Your sentence has become so absurd that it needs to end early_.'

"If you call me – which you should _never _hesitate to do– and I decide that you need me, then I will come. Always. And you're just going to have to deal."

"Oh my god, you're perfect."

It slipped out. He didn't mean to say that. That was definitely the residue of the adrenaline talking. Well, his brain uninhibited thanks to adrenaline, anyway. He opened his mouth in horror. _Take it back._ He needed to take it back. _Make it a joke. Lie. Lie right now before you make this incredibly awkward_. Why weren't words coming out of his mouth?

Blaine seemed to be having a similar problem. He was smiling, but it was the kind of bemused smile that spoke of inner conflict.

"Well, I do what I can. Did you smash your teeth together at the impact? Let me look."

The fact that Blaine then brought his hand to Kurt's jaw did absolutely nothing towards recovering his mental faculties.

"I'm not injured. Really. I promise, it wasn't a big deal. It was stupid of me to make you drive all the way -"

"It was not, and you didn't make me do anything. I decided to come check on you. Are you still going home tonight?"

"I was going to, but I won't have my car, so... do you think you could give me a ride back to school if I go with you now?"

Blaine just looked at him for a moment, seemingly annoyed. "I cannot believe you actually felt the need to ask. But if you want to stay tonight I can come back and get you tomorrow. Your weekend doesn't have to end early."

"I don't know, I don't want to make you -"

"Why doesn't Blaine stay with us tonight?"

Neither of them had noticed Burt approach, or the two truck leave. Blaine instinctively looked at Kurt to check his reaction, and saw such big smile there that he didn't hesitate for another second.

"Thanks, sir, I'd love that, if you're sure it's okay."

Burt waved. "Enough of the sir. I know it's been a while, but I thought we got past that. And it's no trouble. It's good to see you again. You know you're welcome." He looked at his son's delighted face, thought for a moment, then continued. "You can sleep on the couch." Deliberately ignoring his son's scowl, which Blaine thought was the most adorable he'd ever seen, he turned to the older boy. "Do you know how to get back to our house from here? I should go by the garage and see the car gets dropped off."

Kurt spoke up, even though Blaine could've probably worked it out, and, even if he couldn't, he had a GPS that could. "I can go with him, Dad, in case he gets lost."

"Good idea. Give me a hug, kiddo." Kurt obliged, and Burt heard him whisper a few words in his ear. He knew they were nothing to do with him, and Kurt's father was still trying to soothe his son's panic and guilt. They separated and Burt put his hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Drive carefully, okay?"

"Yes, si – I mean, of course."

He was suddenly gripped by a wave of memory – that hand on his shoulder, the same face looking into his...

_Blaine rushed into the emergency room, keys still in his hand, ignoring his phone, which had been ringing non-stop for over an hour. He'd glanced at the caller ID, both afraid and hopeful it might be more news, and seeing it was only Wes, just like ten of the last seventeen missed calls, didn't take the time to pick up. He'd have to call them soon, to explain why he'd taken off, practically shoving David down the stairs in an effort to get to his car, still talking to Mercedes, trying to find out things she didn't know._

_How bad was it? How was he? Was he – No. He couldn't be. Not Kurt. Not Kurt Hummel. Kurt couldn't really be hurt, let alone... anything worse. He'd find Mercedes, and she'd tell him there had been a big mistake. Kurt would be there, smiling, and Blaine would be able to tell him everything he ever wanted to. God, he'd be so relieved he'd – No. He had to find Mercedes. The line to talk to the nurse at reception was too long. Didn't they understand that this was important? He was about to shove his way to the front of the line, jingling his keys, when he saw the flash of a cheerleading uniform down the corridor and recognized it. He took off through the double doors into the corridor and nearly dropped dead of relief when he found Mercedes sitting with two blonde cheerleaders – Britt and Q-something, a dim part of his memory registered. The girls looked up at the sound of his footsteps and Mercedes stood, letting him see for the first time the tears streaming down her face._

_He met her eyes, and he actually felt his heart stop._

_No._

_Just no._

_Not him._

_Not this._

_He felt his fist tighten around his phone, the plastic casing cracking in protest, but he didn't care._

_It didn't matter. Kurt was gone. That alone was enough to make him want to run to somewhere dark, curl up and let the anger and regret eat him alive. But it was also his fault._

_Who had said Kurt should stand up and fight back? He had._

_Who had told Kurt time and time again that he was stronger than this, that he didn't need to run? He had._

_Who had _killed_ him? _He _had._

_Mercedes came to hug him, which was the only reason he didn't immediately collapse on the floor. He couldn't even cry. Tears just seemed inadequate right then._

_She stood on tip-toe to wrap her arms around his neck, and Blaine placed an enormous amount of effort into unclenching his fists so he could hug her back. He tried very hard to feel something other than total loss._

_Then she whispered in his ear, and it was like the sun came out again._

"_He's still unconscious, but they say we might be able to see him in a few hours."_

_Blaine just closed his eyes, let the tears leak out, and squeezed her, thanking whatever powers existed for not taking him away._

* * *

_Kurt had described his father to Blaine several times, but when he walked into the waiting room, where Blaine was sitting quietly with Mercedes, Quinn, and Brittany (Burt, Carole and Finn had been with the doctors, and everyone else had been forced to leave to go get dinner), Blaine was still nervous. He needed to see Kurt, but he could see no reason why this man, who didn't know him from Adam, should let him anywhere near his injured son. He saw Burt's eyes flick to him, sitting in his wrinkled uniform, and Finn, who was behind his step-father, nod at him in recognition. He stood. Ordinarily, under these circumstances he'd be trying to be as charming as possible, but he just couldn't. He walked straight over, acknowledging Finn with a half nod._

"_Mr Hummel, I'm Blaine Hamilton. Mercedes called me. I realize you don't know who I -"_

_Burt seemed so tired. "Of course I know who you are. Kurt told me about you. I'm glad you're here."_

_Blaine saw the corner of Finn's mouth quirk a little, and blinked. Okay. So Burt knew who he was._

"_I wouldn't be anywhere else, Mr. Hummel. I care a lot about Kurt. I was wondering if I could go sit with him, just for a while? I know he isn't...awake yet, but I'd... I'd just like to be there... if it's okay."_

_Burt smiled slightly at him, but hesitated before he spoke._

"_I'm not sure if that's – I've told all of his friends the same thing, that I think it's better if..." He seemed to notice the clock on the wall. "Blaine, don't you live a fair few hours away? Shouldn't you be at school for the night?"_

"_I called my parents, and they called the school. I'm not going anywhere." He tried not to sound defiant._

_Burt just looked at him for a moment. The three girls behind him were watching with interest. Then Finn's voice broke the silence. It was quiet, but certain._

"_You should let him go sit there, Burt. You and Mom need to get some sleep, I'll stay right here...and Kurt would want – well, I think he'd like that."_

_Mercedes looked a little indignant at this, but it seemed to decide something for Kurt's father. Blaine could have kissed Finn right then (but he didn't. Because that would be awkward)._

"_Come with me, Blaine." He put his hand on the shoulder of his Dalton blazer, and the boy felt relief wash over him. He could be there. The last conversation they'd had probably wouldn't be their last conversation ever. The last text he got from Kurt probably wouldn't be about how Wes needed to learn how to abbreviate words properly over text message, so that a reasonable human being could understand them._

_It wasn't over. He might still have time._

* * *

Blaine snapped out of it as Kurt waited for him to unlock his car, and the two of them climbed in. He adjusted the heating, Kurt turned his roommate's ipod on and started scrolling through songs, and Blaine waited for the car to warm up, letting himself sink back into the past for a minute.

It had taken three weeks back at McKinley, most of his injuries fading, with Blaine trying not to ask him every single time they talked if he was ready to talk about transferring, before the final straw came and Kurt ran into his dorm room on that Thursday night, telling him he was going to Dalton. And for those three weeks, Blaine had been glancing at his phone all day, every day, terrified he'd get that phone call again. Burt had told him, after Kurt had woken up, that his son had said he wanted to try and go back to McKinley. That he wanted to be brave. He'd presumed it was the meds talking, and hadn't thought much of it. But Kurt was firm, and as stubborn as hell. Blaine had always kind of liked that about him, until Kurt told him in person, when he was visiting him at home two days after he was released, that he was going back. Blaine had shattered the coffee cup he was holding on the linoleum. It had not even _occurred_ to him that it might play out that way. It wasn't an possibility.

He had fought so very hard to convince Kurt that it wouldn't be wrong to leave a school that was doing next to nothing to find the people who had beaten him and left him lying unconscious in the hallway. Blaine had tried logic.

When that didn't work he got angry, and he'd really yelled at Kurt for the first time ever. Blaine didn't yell very much. He was a gentlemen (well, except with Wes and David, but they would try the patience of a saint).

Kurt was calm, and unmoving, and seeing him like that, still healing and still so fucking unwilling to even consider changing his mind, in his bed wearing Alexander MacQueen and Sevens, his hair perfect, his beauty undiminished by the bruises...it broke Blaine a little. He had actually _begged_. For a minute it had been worth it, because it had looked like it had worked. And then Kurt's face had turned to stone again, and Blaine had cursed every single time he had typed the word courage into his phone and hit send.

He knew Burt had fought too, and had even called Dalton to enquire about admission. But Kurt had made his decision. His stupid, idiotically noble decision. He was going to have courage. And it wasn't until he was moved into Dalton, lying in the room he now shared with Blaine, that he had confessed the reason he'd finally left. It wasn't the insults, or the jeers, or the way some of the football players looked at him and smirked, like they knew he knew. His friends in Glee club had kept their promise, and he had a secret service detail on him at all times. He wasn't really afraid.

It was the memory of people, McKinley students, some of whom he'd known since elementary school, looking away every day, as he was pushed into the lockers for the fifth, or seventh, or tenth time that week, wanting to just walk past, to get on with their day. Sure, they'd talk to him in class, and if asked, they'd probably remember the time in third grade when they and Kurt Hummel had gotten caught trying to free the class hamster. But when it came down to it? They just didn't care. And Kurt couldn't ignore that anymore. Not with the fading bruises and healing body as a reminder. And he couldn't forget the look on Blaine, Wes and David's faces when they'd seen his reaction to Wes' statement of the Dalton philosophy.

_Everyone gets treated the same, no matter what they are._

These three boys had known Kurt for less than an hour, and they were already more concerned about him than most of the kids he'd grown up with.

That had decided him. And Blaine was still so _unbelievably_ glad about that.

"Blaine?"

He jerked his head to look at the passenger seat, where Kurt was looking at him, concerned. He realized he was still holding the keys, which were in the ignition. The heating was definitely working.

"Are you okay?"

Blaine smiled. "I'm fine. Let's go to your house."

Kurt smiled, slightly confused, and pressed play on the song he had selected.

Blaine laughed at his choice.

"Hey, Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming."

There was a pause.

"Always."

And as Blaine peeled out onto the deserted road, on his way to Kurt's house (which, having only been to three or four times, he was confident he could probably have found blindfolded), the quiet vocals coming from his speakers soothed their troubled minds.

_...lucky I'm in love with my best friend, lucky to have been where we have been, lucky to be coming home again..._


	35. Dynamics

_[A/N: Let us have some things. Firstly, 900 reviews, guys? Really? *dies*_

_*continues author's note from the grave*_

_One final thing, I got sent a link today to an lj thread where someone recommended this fic on the kurt_blaine community. Thank you SO much, jettakd & gingerami, it means a lot to know that people are enjoying this enough to share . The more people here, the more fun it'll be.]_

* * *

Blaine had vastly underestimated New Directions.

Not that he'd had a low opinion of them to start with – he'd met them all in passing, shared a few moments with some of them at the hospital, and spent a bit of time with Mercedes (and Finn, when he'd gotten his slushie facial) – but Kurt talked about them all so fondly, and their facebook relationship statuses were so ridiculously difficult to keep up with, that Blaine had always been a little bit wary of them as a group. And a little bit jealous of the connection Kurt seemed to feel with them. Just a little.

He figured that sleeping over at his best friend's house, while making him a little bit giddy - for reasons he was determined to ignore - would be fairly straightforward. He'd hang out with Kurt, meet his family, they'd watch a movie, he'd fight the desire to hold his hand in a decidedly non-platonic way... the usual stuff.

He reckoned on all of this without considering the power of the internet. And texting.

Finn happened to be on the phone to Rachel when Kurt called to tell his father he'd been in a car accident, and Rachel had posted her condolences on Kurt's facebook wall within a couple of minutes. Mercedes saw this and flipped her shit. The call that Kurt got as they were driving over to his house was one of a very high volume. Mercedes then told Tina and Quinn, who told Sam and Brittany, who told Artie, Santana, and the potted plant outside her window, who didn't tell anyone because it couldn't talk.

But the upshot of it was, everyone found out, and Blaine and Kurt's sleepover was invaded. Blaine wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

And then New Directions descended.

As everyone was arriving at Kurt's house, and Carole was hugging Blaine to death, Blaine got a call from Wes, who he'd kind of forgotten to call back to explain where he'd run off to. He actually had a large number of missed calls. Ooops.

He excused himself and picked up. "Hey, Wes."

"WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO?"

"I'm in Lima, Wes, it's fine -"

"YOU CANNOT JUST START TALKING ABOUT BLOOD AND HOSPITALS AND THEN RUN AWAY!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just -"

"YOUNG MAN, YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE WHEN WE GET THERE."

"Get where?"

Wes' voice returned to a normal volume. "Well, everyone is at Kurt's right? It's all over facebook."

Blaine sighed, and Kurt, who was being told by Brittany that she had missed him for weeks, despite the fact that they'd had dinner together that night, noticed and looked at him questioningly.

"It's Wes and David," he explained, "they think they're coming over. I'll tell them -"

Kurt held out his hand for the phone, and Blaine automatically handed it over.

"Wesley? You may come over on the condition that you do not make one comment to any of my female friends about the length of a cheerleader's skirt. And do not go near my Vogue collection."

Wes seemed to agree to this, because Kurt gave him his address and hung up, handing the phone back.

"They'd have just kept calling," he shrugged."And this way you can all meet each other."

Blaine could not help but think that Kurt's barely restrained excitement as he said that last phrase was probably the most adorable thing in the world.

* * *

About an hour after Wes and David arrived, once everyone had set up camp in the basement, Kurt looked around at the group with a smile.

Blaine was sitting in the corner with Brittany, who was getting her hair braided by Quinn, and the boy was talking to her quietly, letting her play absently with his curly hair, and explaining patiently why the light made a rainbow pattern when it went through her crystal earring, not minding in the least when she kept grabbing it from him and giggling. Santana was half listening to this conversation, protective of Brittany as ever, and half lying on Puck's lap in the middle of the spirited debate that had arisen between Wes, Puck, Finn, Sam and Artie about the best way to kill something in some game or another. Kurt wasn't really paying attention closely, on account of the fact that Blaine's glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, and he kept pushing them back, smiling brilliantly when Brittany laughed at him.

On the other side of the room, by the stairs, Tina, Mike, David, Rachel, and Mercedes were involved in an in-depth analysis of this week's episode of _So You Think You Can Dance_, which no one at Dalton (except for David) would admit to watching. The boy looked like he had found his soul mates. In fact, if Kurt were Tina, and not reasonably certain that Mike and David were both straight, he might have been a little bit worried.

He smiled again. This was good. And then Blaine's eyes caught his from across the room, and Blaine winked as Brittany told him that she had this friend who was a dolphin just like Blaine, and his name was Kurt, and they should meet. And he noticed, not for the first time that night, the sweater Blaine was wearing with his green pajama bottoms, which was the one that Kurt had gotten him for Christmas, and he remembered that, according to Wes and David, Blaine had only stopped to grab his coat and keys on the way out, after he got Kurt's call, and hadn't bothered to change.

Which meant that he had been wearing the sweater already. Which, actually, he did a lot, because he said it was his favorite, and it was one of the most comfortable pieces of clothing in the world.

Which was nice, Kurt thought.

And his smile got bigger.

* * *

"Are all your private school boys this yummy?"

Kurt looked up to find Santana perched next to him on his bed, her knowing smile trained on him and Blaine.

He just smiled and raised an eyebrow at her. "You're welcome to come pick some poor unsuspecting victim...one of these days."

"I might take you up on that." She curled her legs underneath her body, grabbing a pillow to lean on, and Kurt realized what had seemed different about her that evening. In her purple pajama bottoms and tank top, with her hair loose over her shoulders, she looked... softer. Her tongue was no less sharp, Kurt knew, but he realized that, even at dinner that night, she had seemed a little... well, older wasn't the right word, and neither was mature. Maybe 'knowing' would be more accurate. She was still Santana, and would still cut you if you looked at her the wrong way, but she had also learned to use the way she could read people. Which is why he found it a little unsettling that she was studying him so intently now.

"So, Hummel," she asked casually, "how far have you and prep boy gone? If the longing glances are any indication, I'd guess not far. Had a sex dream about him yet? A little solo naughty time in the shower, maybe?"

He turned pink, but didn't give her the satisfaction of a hissy fit. Besides, there were people around, including some people's cute roommates, and he wanted this conversation to stay low profile.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he managed. She snorted.

"My mistake. I must have imagined the mental undressing and sidelong smiles you were giving Clark Kent over there." She nodded over to where Blaine was now holding Brittany's hands as she showed him the splits (the other guys were all looking on in appreciation).

"I," choked Kurt, "have not been mentally undressing anyone, let alone Blaine."

"I didn't say," Santana purred with a wink, as she stood to go to Brittany, who had called her over to demonstrate another trick,"that it was_all_ _you_."

_Well_, thought Kurt briefly, before going to join the group, _that's an interesting thought._

* * *

Blaine was having fun.

New Directions' energy took a little bit of getting used to, but he really did like them, for the most part. It was slightly odd, the way that Santana kept looking at him, but she had greeted him with the words "And where's the straight version for me?" so he reasoned that he shouldn't be entirely surprised. Evidently, she wished to portray herself as the token promiscuous girl. But he noticed the way she kept an eye on Brittany, like the rest of them, only more so, and the way she made (enviable) snarky comments to Kurt, which had riled him (and made the protective monster in his chest growl a bit) until he saw Kurt snark right back, and the slight smile that touched the corners of both their mouths. Then he decided that Santana Lopez was a lot more complex than she seemed. She could read what people needed. She sometimes ignored it, true, but, especially in the case of New Directions, she watched, and she knew. Puck had looked at him funnily a couple of times, but considering their last interaction, over the phone on Valentine's Day, Blaine couldn't really blame him.

He'd been hanging out with Brittany and Quinn for a while, chatting with the cheerleaders – well, mostly Brittany, admittedly. At the hospital, after Kurt was attacked, Brittany had been the first person, aside from Mercedes, to touch him, to connect. She'd come over to him as he sat there, waiting for news, for anything, for a word to tell him that Kurt was more than just alive, and had taken his hand, asking if he was sad about Kurt, because if he was, they could be sad together, and maybe it would be less lonely. He'd sat there with her for a long time, just holding her hand. And now he was sitting with her again, but aware of everything else this time, the burden lifted so that they could all enjoy each other.

Quinn smiled, and sat there braiding her friend's hair, laughing or contributing occasionally, exchanging glances with Sam across the room, seemingly content to be on the periphery. He'd chatted to Finn and Artie earlier, but Brittany had come over and taken his hand, asking if he'd like to meet the little people. He was gently correcting Brittany's assumption that little leprechauns lived in her earring, sending out rainbows when there was sunshine, when he felt eyes on him – something that had been a fairly frequent occurrence that night – and looked up to lock gazes with a stare of intense blue-green from across the room. Brittany suddenly remembered her friend Kurt, who was a fish, like him, or something, and he smiled into the blue and winked. It felt natural, like breathing. And Kurt's smile widened in return. Then Quinn asked him if he'd seen some video or another, and he reluctantly dragged his eyes away from his roommate.

Each time he looked, that moment – the loss of contact – was getting harder.


	36. Messes

"Wes, aren't you supposed to be all 'crazy gavel-obsessed head committee member'? Why am_ I_ the one painting this?" Kurt looked up from the banner, at Wes, who was lounging on Blaine's giant bed, surrounded by pillows.

David, who was also at work, glared at his roommate. "You know, I thought when you said we would go work at Blaine's house this weekend that we'd either _all _work... or play video games. Not that_ you'd sit there_ watching Kurt and I slave away."

Wes waved his hand, intent on his game of cell phone snake. "Shh! Besides, you guys are better artists than I am. The banners will look excellent."

Kurt considered throwing paint at him, but didn't want to get it all over Blaine's bedspread. He stated this aloud.

"I appreciate that," Blaine commented from the window seat, where he was fiddling around on his guitar and noting things down. "David, try not to get paint all over my carpet – there's a tarpaulin down for a reason..."

"Yeah," Wes added, "and you might want to hurry up."

David glared at his roommate.

Wes jumped down off of the bed, knocking into Kurt, who spilled the cup of red paint he had been holding all over his shirt. "Wes!"

"Ooops, sorry. Is it, like, Dire or something?"

Kurt fixed him with a look. It was a look that promised pain when Wes least expected it. "No, idiot, is is not _Dior_. I wore paint clothes. But I didn't bring anything to change into, because I didn't think I would be taking a paint-shower in it."

Blaine looked up. "Borrow something of mine." He pointed to his closet, trying not to notice the adorable smudge of red paint on his roommate's nose. "T-shirts are the second drawer on the left."

Kurt was still glaring at Wes, but took a break for a moment to flash his roommate a grateful smile. "Thanks." He handed the brush to his attacker. "It's all yours."

Wes looked at it warily. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and went to go change.

* * *

A few minutes later he announced his return to the room by throwing his wet shirt over Wes' head, prompting a scream of outrage.

Blaine looked up, saw this, and started to laugh, but the chuckle died in his throat.

Kurt was wearing one of his shirts.

I mean, Blaine had told him to, so what else had he expected? But that did not change the fact that _Kurt was wearing one of his shirts. _A piece _of his clothing. _Next to his _skin_. On his _body_.

It was a very clean shirt, and Blaine's thoughts were entirely unclean.

And he'd picked an old favorite shirt of his, too. Which was logical, because it was long, but slightly smaller, so, while it was a bit loose on Kurt's slight frame, it wasn't ridiculous – an old t-shirt he'd had since middle school, with a band's logo on the front that he knew he'd felt really strongly about at the time, because he'd gone to a concert, but he couldn't remember any of their songs or their name or anything just then because _Kurt was wearing his shirt._

He wore that shirt a lot when he was home, to run, or during the summer when he played soccer, or at swim meets, and now it was on Kurt's skin, and... he really liked seeing that. The color suited him.

Maybe once it was washed and he had it back it would still smell like him...

Blaine caught himself thinking this and mentally slapped himself for being very, very creepy. Because only stalkers plotted to steal people's clothing. Except it was his, anyway, so it wasn't that weird, right?

But anyway. He was staring. And his three friends were looking at him, and two of them had slightly evil grins on their faces.

"Blaine," Kurt was gesturing to himself, concerned. "Is it okay that I took this one? I'll get it back to you..."

He fought the urge to tell him to keep it, because it looked _so very good_ on him. "Y-yeah. Of course. That's fine." This only prompted thoughts of what would happen if he said no, and Kurt had to take it off again. Actually, maybe he should tell him to -

"Boys, I was thinking of just ordering in for dinner later – anyone interested?" His mother had appeared in the doorway. "And I have coffee downstairs – can someone help me bring it up?"

Blaine thought he should probably go downstairs for a few minutes. His room seemed stuffy just then. Probably the paint fumes. He stood up, laying his guitar down. "I'll help, Mom."

Kurt, who was right next to the doorway, smiled at her. "Me too."

"Thanks, dears." She saw David start to get up. "No, don't worry, darling, you stay." Her eyes flicked to Wes, who hadn't moved a muscle. Her lips pursed. "No, really, Wesley, don't get up."

He waved his hand. "If you insist."

"You are actually going to annoy someone to death one of these days, Wesley, and when that day comes, I am going to -"

"Fine," he grumbled, rolling off the bed. "I thought you said you only needed one person."

"Blaine and Kurt both volunteered."

"And I'm sure we're all entirely shocked by that coincidence."

Blaine very deliberately stepped on his foot.

"Ow!"

Kurt grinned at him as they went downstairs.


	37. Waves

_[A/N: This is for Caitlin (Keitorin_Asthore), because it was her birthday today (it is still the 14th for me... just!), and she posted the most fabulous beginning to a three-shot I ever did see. Also, she is just about the only reason this fic exists. Because she is insanely talented like that. Hope your birthday was wonderful, dearest! I know you like fluff and angst... so here's one with a dash of the other._

_Also, I_Spiked_The_Ice_Cream wrote me a one-shot called 'Napoleon Complex', it is hilarious, and I love everything about it. In fact, it has been open on my computer all day waiting me to review. You should go read it. It is Klaine-y and delicious_

_Also also: I have been known to answer questions on tumblr. If there is something you desire to know, you should ask._

_Finally: The lurkers that are coming out to review - I appreciate you all! :) It's so nice to hear what people think!]_

* * *

Dalton had a number of things that McKinley did not: dorms, an indoor swimming pool, common rooms, a _real _choir room, cute boys in uniform...

It also had stricter graduation requirements. And one of those requirements was that every student, during their freshman year, needed to pass a swimming proficiency exam. Kurt could swim, but he hadn't, obviously, been there to take the test, so one of the counselors suggested he meet the head coach one day after class and swim some laps, to get the requirement out of the way.

Blaine had decided, when Kurt told him about this, on the day he planned to do it, that he'd go swim laps that afternoon, instead of on Saturday.

For no particular reason. You know. Just 'cause.

Of course, Wes and David heard this, and smirked gleefully.

Blaine happened to have a free period at the end of that day – his Latin class was cancelled - so he went running, and when he got down to the pool it was already about ten minutes later than Kurt was supposed to have arrived. Blaine had changed upstairs, and the head coach smiled in greeting when he threw his towel down on one of the benches.

"Anderson, have you seen Hummel?"

"Not since lunch, sir."

Coach Walters appeared to consider this, as the splashes of the few people taking advantage of the water provided a soothing soundtrack.

"Hm. Maybe he's in the locker room."

"I can go check," he offered quickly.

The older man nodded. "Fine. You still on the team this year?"

"I'm not sure, coach, I'll have to check the schedule."

He nodded again, and Blaine made his way around the pool to the locker room, wishing he hadn't left his phone up in his bag. He hoped Kurt hadn't forgotten. Walters was cool, for the most part, but he didn't like having his time wasted. He walked around the corner, the first row of lockers, and froze.

Kurt hadn't forgotten.

He was standing there, looking at his reflection in the full length glass of one of the doors. He was in swimming trunks, shirtless, and that was enough to stop Blaine in his tracks. All that creamy white skin...

But Kurt wasn't fixing his hair, or checking himself out. He seemed nervous. He had his arm lifted slightly, outstretched, and the look of anxiety and pain in his eyes was probably the only thing that had the power to drag Blaine's gaze up.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Kurt jumped and spun to face him, his arm clamping to his side.

"Blaine. Hi... I..."

Now that they were facing each other, the older boy was having slightly more difficulty keeping his eyes on Kurt's face. Which was ridiculous. He'd seen him shirtless before, of course. But that was just fleeting glances, and this was the real thing. And Blaine was suddenly having a lot of trouble thinking about anything except the way that Kurt's waist tapered perfectly, and his arms were just the right size – not scrawny, like might be expected for someone of his build. He was thinking this, and other slightly less clinical thoughts (he really hated red swim trunks, for starters), when Kurt spoke, and the words – the strange, horrifying words - snapped him back to reality instantly.

"I knew it. I'll put a shirt back on. This was so stupid."

"What?" he said intelligently, fighting the instinct to yell a very loud 'No!'

Kurt looked so sad. "I thought they might be gone by now."

"What would?" Blaine was confused. Kurt was unhappy, and he wanted to fix it.

He just sighed. "Don't pretend, Blaine. I get it. I'm an idiot."

"Kurt, what are you talking about?"

Kurt took a breath, then lifted his arm away from his body.

And Blaine saw what he hadn't even noticed.

Several white and pink scars ran up the side of his body, with very light, old bruising around them. They had almost faded away to nothing, but you could see them... if you were looking.

Blaine glanced up to his face again, saw the sorrow there, and didn't know what to say.

"I'd forgotten," Kurt whispered. "They don't hurt anymore, they haven't for ages, and nobody's been – I mean, except – but I'd...I just remembered. It's.." he got quiet. "I'll put a t-shirt on."

He turned, and Blaine grabbed his hand automatically. "I didn't see them."

"Don't lie, Blaine, I -"

"I didn't. Have I ever lied to you?"

"Then -"

He had a sudden thought. "You want to see mine?"

A hesitant smile. They were still holding hands. "What?"

Blaine let go and brought his foot up onto one of the benches. He pointed to a spot on the back of his knee. "Tree house. Third grade. Tommy Nielson pushed me."

Kurt seemed unsure whether he should laugh or not. Blaine smiled. "It's okay. I got revenge. In eighth grade he tried to cheat off me in our English midterm, and I made sure he got all the answers wrong."

His friend opened his mouth, but Blaine held up a hand. He pulled the waistband of his swim trunks down on his right side an inch or two, so Kurt could see the skin above his hipbone. There was a mark there. Not a scar, just a mark.

"Eighth grade. Tripped going down a flight of stairs."

Kurt inhaled sharply. "Who?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. Doesn't matter. Could have been anyone."

There was silence this time as he continued. Finally, he turned so Kurt could see his left shoulder. A thin white line stretched over the skin. Almost invisible. "The corner of a locker, freshman year. Four stitches. Two in my head, too." One of his hands ran through his hair unconsciously. He thought for a moment, then offered his elbow. "And that. But that was just Wes getting overexcited about fencing lessons sophomore year." He smiled. "Anyway. Did you notice any of those until I pointed them out?"

"No, but -"

He pulled him back over in front of the glass, and stood slightly behind him, placing his hands firmly on his friend's shoulders. The decisive gesture was for his sake, as well as Kurt's.

"I didn't notice them, but it doesn't matter. The pain fades, that's what's left. It means what you want it to mean. To me...it means you're still here."

"But they're so -"

"They aren't _so_ anything. They just are. And they'll fade more, and no one will notice, unless you want them to."

"People aren't going to want to look at me. Or they will, and they'll ask -"

"No one will notice. And if they do, they won't bring it up. And if they do ask, you can tell them what happened, or you can tell them it's none of their business."

"...you really didn't see them?"

"No, I was too busy being impressed by how skinny you are, especially when I saw you eat all that chocolate cake at lunch."

"Says the boy who put away half a pizza before surfacing for air."

He grinned. "Hence the need for me to swim laps all afternoon. I'm not just stalking you, you know. Much." He patted his stomach. "I have to keep my figure."

Kurt raised his eyes in the glass, so they were looking directly into Blaine's. He smiled, and brought a hand up to one of his shoulders, twining his fingers briefly with his roommate's. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "Just stating fact."

"No. Thanks... for making me feel like they aren't such a big deal."

"I only speak the truth. You should see David's arms. The number of times he has wiped out trying to do tricks down those stairs in the entrance hall..."

Kurt smiled as he ran the index finger of his other hand over the raised skin.

Blaine fought with all he had the insane urge to follow that with his own fingers. And then his lips, brushing them over the soft skin, erasing every single memory of pain with brief touches, ghosting quietly, silently, pouring every single feeling he'd had over these last months into making Kurt understand, making every touch count, the soft skin -

"I should probably go out there."

His eyes widened. "Mmm... I mean, yeah." He smiled. "Let's go swim. I'll race you."

"You compete at this," Kurt protested.

"Better get going then, hadn't you?" Blaine suggested, sprinting for the door. Kurt followed, and when they appeared poolside, giggling, Coach Walters was deep in conversation with someone.

"Hummel, I have to take care of this, I'll be back in ten." Kurt nodded, and the adults disappeared. Blaine balanced on the side of the pool, holding out his arms theatrically for balance.

"Wanna see something cool?"

Kurt pointed over his shoulder, wide-eyed with horror.

"Hey, look, is that Wes with your _guitar_?"

He turned quickly, and then he was flailing, on his way into the deep end, Kurt laughing gleefully. Blaine had excellent reflexes, though, and he made sure to grab his hand, so they went in together.


	38. Words

It all started with the cardigan.

Well, no, it started with a bad week.

It exploded with the cardigan.

* * *

The post-Valentines prank war had ended. Glitter had been cleaned up, blood had almost been spilt, and now all was back to normal in the Dalton dorms.

Except both Blaine and Kurt had had a _really_ bad week. The kind of epically bad week you need your best friend for.

They were both overworked, and tired, and each just about ready to kill the next person who annoyed them.

This was not good.

* * *

Kurt raised an eyebrow at his roommate on Friday afternoon. "Really, Blaine?"

He snapped his head away from his sleeve, which he was fixing distractedly. "What?"

"You are wearing that? Out of this room?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Have you seen it?"

"I like it. Doesn't it look good?"

Kurt chose his words very carefully. "The color, Blaine."

"I like the color."

"It's a nice color. It just is not a nice color with that shirt."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"I will not be able to look you in the eye if you wear that."

"Well, to coin a phrase, you are not the boss of me."

They were both still smiling. A little.

"...besides, you're one to talk."

Oh dear.

"What does that mean?"

"That scarf?"

"What is wrong with my scarf?"

"Nothing, if you like the bargain bin at K-Mart."

Kurt actually gasped.

"What is your _problem_?"

"You insulted my cardigan."

"Because it is hideously matched. I know you can do better."

"Oh, for god's sake. Let's just go." Blaine scowled as they left the room.

"Fine, but please walk at least three feet behind me at all times."

"Shut up."

* * *

They'd gone out for pizza with some guys from their floor. It had been a really long week – Kurt had had a surprise History exam (it was a surprise in that he'd forgotten about it), had been reprimanded by his Latin teacher for texting in class (Mercedes had needed an update, okay?), had been working so hard at learning new music for the Warblers that he was beginning to lose his voice, and was seriously considering telling Blaine that if he did not stop leaving his freaking capo on the floor, he'd throw it out the window next time he almost stepped on it. Or he'd take a pair of scissors to his guitar strings. One of the two. It was also possible he was a little bit frustrated with his feelings for his guitar-playing hideous-color-combination-loving, curly haired roommate. Possibly. All of these things combined might just have been making him a little crazy, and the two of them might have been snapping at each other all week.

So when Blaine took the piece of pizza, the last one of the veggie-type that Kurt had been eyeing, he was annoyed. More than annoyed. He was furious. And when, a minute later, Blaine turned to him and asked him whether he still thought the outfit was hideous, considering the waitress had asked for his number, Kurt couldn't stop himself from retorting.

"You noticed that? I'm surprised you didn't try to befriend her, and then move in and have a house full of fashion-challenged children."

"What?"

"Never mind. Can you please pass the bread? Unless you want to eat that too."

Blaine was looking quite annoyed now. So far that week he'd flunked a big french test ( he had to retake it the following week) and written a twelve page paper on the English Civil War, only to have his hard drive crash four hours before the deadline, and if he woke up to one more Lady Gaga song he was probably going to do some serious damage. He'd also mistranslated a sentence on his Latin quiz (and he was_excellent_ at Latin. He'd won _awards_, for crying out loud) because he'd been distracted by the memory of breakfast that morning, when Wes had commented that the way Kurt was nibbling at his granola bar was practically causing Blaine's eyes to roll back in his head, and Kurt had smiled a little before throwing an apple straight at Wes' nose. Kurt's assault on his favorite outfit (which Rainn Fawkes had worn in Marie Claire just the previous month, thank you very much, and Kurt had talked about that photoshoot for _days_, which may or may not have influenced Blaine's decision when he saw it in the store) had darkened his mood even more, and he was, at this point, just wanting to go to bed and stay there until the week from hell ended.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. "You've been snapping at me all day, all week, even, and I'm sick of it."

"Me? You're the one who -"

"Children, children," Wes demanded, waving a napkin between them like a flag. "No fighting at the dinner table."

"He's being a-"

"Charming young man, who should pass me a piece of the cheese?" David asked.

"No, just a total and complete -"

"Listen, Kurt, I've had a hell of a week, so if you're determined to start a fight, let me tell you -"

"I'm not the one starting anything here, Blaine. Nor, may I add, am I the one who leaves empty hair gel containers lying all over the place for people to step on. What do you do, Blaine, pour it on?"

"Oh, shit," muttered David, pouring himself another soda. Blaine's eyes narrowed.

"Once. That happened once. And maybe if there was any space for my gel amongst the four thousand different brands of moisturizer you insist on buying - quite why I don't know, as they have no purpose whatsoever -"

"Guys," Wes protested, as Kurt's eyes flashed and he lifted his chin, "really, I don't think this is the -"

"My skin," Kurt said through gritted teeth, "is something I care about, whether you seem to think it's worth my time or not. _Excuse me _for caring about my appearance." He eyes his roommate's outfit with distaste. "...unlike some people, I don't leave the house looking like I dressed in the dark."

"You are being a total and complete jerk right now."

"It takes one to know one, doesn't it, Mr. Anderson-Hamilton?"

Blaine opened his mouth to respond, then closed it and stood up, pulling out a twenty and handing it to Wes. Neither of their voices had been raised, but everyone at the table was listening. "I'm done with this. I'm going back to school." He paused before he left the table. "Actually, no. I think I'll go home for the weekend. Wes, I won't be at practice tomorrow. Kurt," he paused, "if you honestly find me so difficult to live with... then maybe we should think about finding different roommates."

Kurt's eyes widened, then he opened his mouth and it set into a firm line. "Maybe we should."

"Fine. I'll see you all on Sunday." He paused and glanced at Kurt. "I'll tell my parents you say hi."

Kurt watched him go, with the rest of them, frustration, fear, and anger broiling in his stomach. _Fine. __Let him go. I hope he_ – he couldn't even finish the thought. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to curl up with his ipod and listen to the '_Emotive Songs: Sorrow'_ playlist Rachel had made for him, and then tell Mercedes how right he was, and how stupid Blaine was being.

"I'm going back to school," he told Wes and David after a minute, glad he'd chosen to drive his own car. "Can you guys get a ride back?"

Wes opened his mouth to speak, but David silenced him with a look. "Sure, Kurt. You... you sure you want to leave now? I'll bet if you called Bl-"

"I don't need to call anyone," Kurt sniffed. "I'll see you later."

He drove back to school, and curled up in his bed for hours, alone in his and Blaine's dorm room, staring at his phone, replaying the entire week, and wondering what the hell they'd just fought about anyway.

* * *

Saturday was miserable. Warbler's practice was completely pointless, as they'd been intending to rehearse _You Belong With Me_. It was probably just as well Blaine wasn't there, because Kurt knew he'd never sounded worse in his life. Nick sang through Blaine's part, but after a few tries it became clear that vocal exhaustion was only one of Kurt's problems. He just couldn't do it, and that irritated him even more. He was a professional, for christ's sake. Who the hell was Blaine Anderson-Hamilton-Whatever to make him feel like he couldn't sing a damn love song? How dare he? He was _Kurt Hummel_! This was unacceptable!

When his voice cracked for the third time on the first chorus, Wes called a halt.

"Okay, gentlemen, I think that's enough for today. Nick, thank you for stepping in, but don't get that manic look, it's just for today. I'll see you on Tuesday. No absences, please, we have a competition to prepare for, and tardiness is not tolerated."

As the members filed out, including David, who shot his roommate a significant look, Wes grabbed Kurt by the arm. "Seriously, Kurt..."

"I'll make some tea," he promised, picking up his bag, and wondering if he'd make it to his room before he started to cry. "My voice will be fine by Tuesday, I promise."

"Have you called him?"

"Who?" he evaded.

"Who the hell do you think? Everyone's favorite hobbit. He-who-must-not-be-ruffled. Listen, I have no idea what happened last night, but -"

"No offense, Wes, but it's really none of your business, and I don't want to talk about it, so -"

"It is. And no offense, Kurt, but I so don't care." Wes held up his phone. "Do you see this?"

The background was a picture of Wes and his girlfriend, just like always.

"What?"

"No texts. No nothing. David and I have been trying all day. If I hadn't called his house and talked to Hal, I'd think he'd run off to Mexico or something."

There was a pause. "Not Mexico," Kurt corrected quietly.

"What?"

"He'd go to Canada. He got sick when he went on vacation to Mexico. He hated it."

Wes looked at him for a moment. "Call him."

"I don't want to."

"You are such a bad liar."

"He wants a new roommate. You heard him."

"No, he wanted you to follow him out of the restaurant and tell him he was right. Did you see his face when you said 'okay'?"

"I don't want to talk to him, and he doesn't want to talk to me."

"Please, I'm willing to bet you've been sitting by your phone all night."

"I have not," he lied.  
"He was too," Wes said quietly.

"You don't know that."

"His dad does. They're close."

"I know."

"Blaine won't talk to him."

"There isn't anything to talk about."

"Christ, what did you two fight about?" Wes seemed suddenly irritated, and that set Kurt off.

"I have no fucking idea, okay? I had a bad week, and he had a bad week, and then we were snapping at each other, and sniping all week, and I couldn't say anything, and he couldn't either, without one of us starting a – and then he'd had enough, and now he wants to move out, and I -" Kurt sank onto the couch and put his head in his hands. "I don't know what happened."

Wes looked alarmed at the imminent tears, but sat down and patted him comfortingly. "You had a fight. It happens when you're in lo – when you live with someone."

Kurt looked up. "Did this ever happen with David? Or when you were living with Blaine?"

_No, but there wasn't a icy block of sexual tension in either of those relationships thick enough to sink a cruise liner._

"No, but Jo and I fight all the time."

"She's your girlfriend."

"...yeah."

Kurt seemed to think about this for a minute. He sniffed. "He hates me. He thinks I'm vain."

"No, he doesn't."

"He thinks I care too much about clothes, and the way I look. He thinks I'm stubborn and judgmental."

"No, he _knows_ you're stubborn and judgmental," Wes corrected, nudging him. He almost smiled. "And... if I tell you something, do you promise not to ever tell him I told?"

"What?"

"Promise. He'd kill me."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I sincerely doubt that there is anything you could do to Blaine that could match the stuff you've already pulled."

"Don't set me challenges right now, I'm trying to help. Anyway, do you promise?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what he said to me when he got back from the hospital that first time, just to grab a change of clothes, even though I said I'd drive over? When you were lying there? And you'd woken up, after he'd thought you were dead?"

Kurt was just looking at him. "What?"

Wes took a breath, then let it out slowly, keeping eye contact. "He said he wished it was him. He said he'd nearly killed you, and if you'd died, he didn't know what he would have done... he was so scared, Kurt. He thought he'd lost you, and then he thought you'd hate him, because he was the one who had told you to stand up for -"

"That's ridiculous."

"I'm not done. He said he'd failed you, and maybe he didn't deserve to even be your friend. He was broken, Kurt... and when you went back to McKinley he spent every waking hour checking his phone, or on facebook, making sure nothing was wrong, fighting the urge to text you, to check everything was okay...he..." Wes closed his eyes briefly. "He went a little crazy. Nothing like he would have been if he'd lost you, but... Blaine's my best friend, Kurt. He's our best friend. David and I... we...it was difficult... it was so difficult to watch him fall apart."

Kurt didn't know what to say to that. He'd known some of that – after he found out that Blaine had been slushied, which was the only time they'd really talked about it, Blaine had told him a little – that he was scared, and that he'd blamed himself. But what Wes was talking about was... "I – I'm sorry...I..."

"This is not something you need to apologize for, idiot. You just need to know... Blaine, he – he cares about you..._so_ much. You know that, I know you do. He's cared about you for... he will. You can criticize his clothes and hair as much as you want, that isn't changing anytime soon. Blaine's a lot of things... he's stubborn, and talented, and really lousy at saying what he wants... he's also loyal. To a fault. Always." He paused. "Well, maybe lay off the hair. He's touchy about the hair."

Kurt was crying a little, but he managed to giggle. "I have never heard you say so many sentences in a row without making some kind of crude joke. I don't expect this from you. Who are you, and what have you done with Wesley?"

"He has been dealt with," he said solemnly, waving his gavel before wiggling his eyebrows. "I am a man of many talents, as Jo can tell you. Also, when David picked rock, I picked scissors."

"Touching," Kurt commented.

"I try. Kurt...call him."

"I can't."

Wes shook his head, his jaw tight, then stood. "You know, I joke a lot, but I want you to know that I mean it when I say you're both idiots. I love you guys like brothers, but... god, you're idiots." He touched him on the shoulder briefly, then left.

Kurt took his phone out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of him, then moved his bag to the floor and curled up on the couch. He knew Wes was right.

He was an idiot.

* * *

It was dark when he woke – the curtains were open, and the light was just beginning to touch the grass outside the common room window, visible through the gloom. Clearly, he'd fallen asleep after practice yesterday afternoon. And clearly no one had bothered to wake him up. The common room was always full on Saturday nights – he had no idea how he'd managed to sleep through that.

He heard a cough. He wasn't alone.

He looked over to see Blaine, his (former?) roommate and possibly-still best friend, sitting in an armchair, looking at him over his copy of_The Princess Bride – _that meant he was nervous.

"How long have you been here?"

"A while."

Kurt frowned. "Don't go all stalker vampire on me. How long?"

Blaine shrugged. "I got back last night. Couldn't find you. Wes told me he'd seen you here, so I came down... you were asleep, so I decided to make sure no one bothered you. You were tired."

"You stayed here all night?"

"You were comfortable."

"But you weren't."

"I wasn't tired."

"You haven't slept all week. Of course you are."

"I couldn't sleep. I -" He touched the book. "Had to catch up on my reading."

"You have that book memorized. Did you just stay here all night watching me sleep?"

He blushed. "No. That would be weird."

"Yes, it would."

Blaine sighed. "I don't want to fight."

Kurt paused. "Me either."

"I don't even really know what we fought about," he confessed.

"I took my week out on you. I shouldn't have."

"I shouldn't have either. It's just... it's easy, because … I know you're always there."

"We spend a lot of time together."

"Yeah." Blaine stood and walked over to sit by Kurt's feet on the couch. "And I really like that – I really like that we hang out, and do all this stuff together, and you're not just my roommate, you're my best friend... but..."

"It makes it easy to snap."

"Yeah." He put down the book and looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry I said all that stuff. And..." he hesitated... "the only reason I said that stuff about you and the moisturizer was because I don't think you need have... your skin is perfect. It isn't stupid. Nothing that.." he blushed, then spoke quickly. "Nothing that makes your skin so soft is stupid.""

Kurt was pink. "I'm sorry too. I like your hair. I like it when it's all curly, and stuff, but... it always looks good." He paused. "And the outfit... wasn't as bad as I said. You made it – it... it looked fine. Hot, even."

He nodded in shy thanks, blushing himself, then, after a moment, seemed not to be able to stop himself from blurting out "Please don't find a new roommate. When I said that, I... I was being an idiot. I didn't think... I hope you don't want to."

"I don't," he said quickly. He added "Wes thinks we're both idiots."

"He's one to talk."

"He told me to call you."

"I know."

"How?"

He shrugged. "Parents. Voicemails. And I know Wes and David."

"I was staring at my phone." He gestured to the table. "Where is my phone?"

Blaine pointed to the other side of the room. "It's charging over there."

"Oh. Thanks."

"No problem. Kurt... I was... I should have called you. That's why I came back last night. I... wanted to apologize. For taking everything out on you, and...thanks. For being there, you know. We should have, this week, but... I know you're there."

Kurt shrugged off the blanket that was covering him, which was Blaine's favorite, the soft blue one, and had definitely not been there when he'd fallen asleep, and sat up properly. "You're my friend."

"I know, but..."

"But nothing."

They smiled at each other for a minute. "My mom wants you to come for dinner next weekend."

He raised an eyebrow. "Even after..."

Blaine blinked at him. "They know we had a fight. I told them, after I spent most of yesterday sulking and playing Death Cab and Blink 182 in my room. After about the tenth voicemail from David."

"Why? What did David say?"

"It wasn't that," he said quietly. "It was the fact that I realized who I was waiting to see a call from, and what a huge hypocrite I was being." He smiled at Kurt's confusion. "Courage, remember? I forget sometimes too."

"Oh... I... I'd like to go to dinner. At your house. If... your family is ridiculously perfect, have I mentioned this?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Perfect is the last thing we are. Trust me on this."

"Yeah, okay." He started to get up, but Blaine grabbed his hand – it was a reflex, and he looked slightly embarrassed by it.

"I'm serious. And...I really am sorry."

Kurt squeezed. "Me too. What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"It's Sunday."

"Yes."

"Do you want to go to breakfast?"

Blaine grimaced.

Kurt clarified. "Let's go get pancakes. I'll drive, you're dead. Then you can come back and sleep."

"I have a paper to write."

"You need to eat. And sleep. I'll wake you up in time to finish it, I promise..." he tried to straighten out his wrinkled uniform, frowning, and then running his hands through his hair in what he hoped was a casual manner. "Then we can study French."

"You don't need to study french," Blaine objected.

"But you do. And you didn't need to sit up all night thinking deep thoughts and guarding me like some kind of ador – like some kind of dragon, or something."

Blaine stared at him for a moment, then smiled. "Okay." He picked up the book, and headed for the doors, turning for one final grin. "As you wish."

Kurt decided he'd have to watch or read The Princess Bride again very soon.

* * *

As they got ready to visit Blaine's parents that weekend, Kurt commented, while fixing his hair for the fourth time, that it was a little cold out, and anyway, that shirt would look really good with his new cardigan. The color complimented his skin tone, he said, even better than it did Rainn Fawkes'.

Blaine walked over to the closet, and smiled into the hangers.


	39. Resolutions

_[A/N: Guys. I have fanart. mskelseylove and laertena (She also made Warblers. OUT OF PAPER. PAPER WARBLERS, YOU GUYS. She posted the templates on her tumblr, so you too can have your very own Blaine, Kurt, Jeff, Nick, Wes, David, and Thad. I LOVE HER) drew me things, and I love them. You can find them linked in my profile, because they fill me with joy._

_Also, I have made a livejournal for fanfiction. I haven't done anything with it yet, except become violently addicted to a few fics, but I am open to suggestions. What do I do with a lj? I'm mybriefeternity on there, because aspiringtoeloquence is too long of a name, apparently._

_Also: dangerhermionegranger gets love for the most accurate description of this fic I have ever seen: "After a bad incident at McKinley, Kurt transfers to Dalton and creates more fluff than a cotton candy machine." I laughed. 'Cause it's true. Wait, you guys... does this mean you want LESS FLUFF? ;)_

_ADDITIONALLY, fi. in. a. box (minus the spaces, because it won't let me take them out) left me the most hilarious review ever, which requires copy pasting._

_"YAAAY. Adoring Dragon Blaine should have his own spin off cartoon show... but not a kids one because that would severely limit what ADB does with Sleepy Wizard Kurt. _

_Now I want to see Kurt in one of those Disney Fantasia style wizard hats._

_Now that's all I'm going to think about all day."_

_... I will write it, if someone will draw it. I will write it, because it is now part of my 'verse. Because I have a 'verse now, I seem to presume. Because I am presumptuous like that._

_Have a chapter. Sorry for the wait, really.]_

* * *

Blaine decided that it needed to stop.

To be fair, he decided this on a fairly regular basis, but each time he vowed that this time it would happen.

He would stop thinking about his roommate during class in a way that was decidedly un-platonic. When they were hanging out, or studying in their dorm room, he wouldn't get sidetracked by the way Kurt's cheeks flushed when he got excited about something... the way his tongue curled around the french verbs he helped Blaine conjugate... the way his white oxford shirt showed the muscles in his back shifting sometimes, if he was wearing a tighter one... the way his eyelashes framed those expressive eyes... the way Kurt's hand – so much softer than his, so soft that couldn't stop himself from taking any and every opportunity to touch – felt when it brushed his, or Kurt took his, or Blaine worked up the _courage_, like he had that first day, to slip his hand in his best friend's... the way that, during Warbler's rehearsals, Blaine's body would lean, of it's own accord, towards the melodic, strong, lyrical countertenor that had him spellbound... the way that when he saw Kurt's handwriting on a note left in his notebook, or a sketch he'd done during class one day, even better than the first one he'd seen, the one of Pavarotti he'd walked in on Kurt drawing in his first week at Dalton, and assuaged his roommate's fears and embarrassment by asking if he could have it, when it was done, because it was beautiful, which made Kurt smile, and sketch a little more often from then on... the way that when Kurt smiled at him, or looked at him, he felt special – like he was worth so much more than just what he was.

Like he was worth _everything_.

...yeah, that had to stop.

Blaine needed to stop reliving moments in class, or at night, lulled by the comforting sounds of soft breathing, in his dreams, when he'd see the two of them together – sometimes in a tangle of lips, tongues, and limbs, with delicious intensity, but most of the time just_ together_ – holding hands, comfortable in the knowledge that they were just... _them_. Sometimes, in some of the best dreams, the ones that made him actually ache when he woke and realized they weren't reality, they were older, laughing, and one of them was holding a gorgeous baby with bright blue eyes.

...Or, worst of all, he needed to stop thinking of them – which happened more and more often as time went on - when the warm water was washing over him in the shower, and images would leap into his mind unbidden (Okay. Sometimes a _little _bidden). Kurt wearing _his_ clothes, curled up with him on _his_ bed, watching a movie. Kurt _not _wearing his clothes. Them by the pool, Kurt's skin glowing, Blaine wanting so much to kiss away every ugly shred of self doubt that ever clouded that beautiful face. Kiss away the scars, or even just make them recognizable as a symbol of something new, something beautiful. That face... and those eyes...

_Oh god_, Blaine would think breathlessly, every single time, leaning his head against the cool tile, trying to let the spray wash away his guilt,_this has to stop_.

* * *

Kurt decided that it needed to stop.

To be fair, he came to this conclusion fairly frequently, but each time he promised himself that this would be the time. This would be it.

He would stop staring at Blaine during Warbler practice, following his every movement, imagining that, when they practiced their duet, or any love song, really, Blaine was singing _for_ him, _to_ him. He'd stop obsessing over the way that his roommate's hair dried naturally, curling around his ears, so wonderfully free of the gel that usually trapped it – those curls looking like they would be so soft, if Kurt just reached, and ran his fingers through them. There would be no more need to take deep breaths whenever Blaine quoted Shakespeare, or Byron, or Browning in conversation, or easily translated a phrase into Italian, or Latin, or back. He wouldn't smile quite so fondly whenever the senior insisted that the french passe compose of dormir, to sleep, was, or should be '(avoir) dormed'. He'd stop almost falling into those eyes with alarming regularity, not sure if he'd ever want to leave. And the touch of Blaine's hand on his skin – a little rough from the guitar, fingers not the _kind_ of smooth he worked so hard to make his own, but a contrast he found himself craving, a comfort, the warmth of his best friend's hand, reminding him that he was there – that wouldn't make his pulse quicken the way it did.

The way Blaine sounded when he was excited about something, and the sparkle Kurt had told him about – that shouldn't be something he craved like it was oxygen. He shouldn't light up on the inside whenever he saw his roommate's name on the caller ID. He shouldn't love the way that Blaine said his name when he was very deliberately making a point - sharpening the affricate, alveolar consonant (he hadn't watched Broadway biopics and documentaries for years for noting) of the t, the inhale as he paused to think, making sure he was choosing the right words - or even when he forgot to pause, and just kept going, words tumbling out of those lips.

And, most of all, he shouldn't have vivid fantasies, in his dreams, yes, more and more frequently as time went on, and sometimes during the day, of Blaine under him, above him, around him, murmuring in his ear words that Kurt wasn't even sure he could bear remembering when he returned to reality. It wasn't just the things they sometimes did in those dreams – and that included holding hands, as well as a plethora of other, distinctly less G-rated activities. It actually scared him sometimes, the intensity of it – the way dream-Blaine would look at him, touch him, hold him like he was something precious. He liked to pretend to himself that he saw a ghost of it sometimes... in reality, with actual-Blaine, when their eyes met, just for the first fraction of a second. And that just made the dreams worse – or better – because then hazel eyes would smile at him, and he'd taste lips that he couldn't quite pinpoint the feel of, because he didn't really have an exact frame of reference, but he knew they'd taste like coffee, and mint, and maybe even mango chapstick, because Blaine was occasionally obsessed with it for days at a time. They'd be soft. And smooth hands, slightly hardened by playing the guitar, rough in places too, would run over his skin, and there would be sweat, but it wouldn't be gross (at least not _very) _because it was Blaine... and him. Him and Blaine, and want and... no regrets, just -

And then he'd wake up in his bed, disoriented and blissfully content until he looked across the room at the one person in the whole world he wanted to want him. Needed to need him, as the song went. Lo -

_Oh, god, _Kurt thought, slamming his head into his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut, _this has to stop._

* * *

They were both very deliberately not thinking of each other on Monday night, as they studied. By about 8pm, Blaine was wound up so tightly he was afraid he'd snap.

"Hey, want to watch a movie?"

Kurt looked up from his notebook. "Sure. What?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Something that has nothing to do with physics."

Kurt considered. "_My Fair Lady_ or _Finding Nemo_? Or _A Knight's Tale_?

"Nemo," he decided. "I am too burnt out to appreciate the talents of Rex Harrison or Heath Ledger and Paul Bettany."

Kurt clambered off his bed and got the DVD, then crawled onto Blaine's bed. "Floor's too far away," he explained tiredly. It had been a long week. "Bed's comfy."

Blaine smiled at his sleepiness and yawned. "True."

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not."

They put the movie in and settled down, Blaine pulling his blankets over them. Both were already in their pajamas, and by the time Nemo needed finding they were both asleep. Their bodies took the liberty of making themselves comfortable.

Each of them half-woke at some point that night to discover that they were both on their side, facing towards Kurt's bed, and that Kurt had wrapped one arm a little bit around Blaine's waist from behind, while his other hand was resting against his roommate's back. They weren't actually completely pressed up against each other, but Blaine's head was tilted back towards Kurt's so their heads touched, and Blaine's arm was holding Kurt's to his stomach.

When they saw the darkness, they each thought to themselves for a minute. _This really does have to stop. I can't keep dreaming this. I just can't. _Then they felt the warmth, the security of their arms intertwined, and they smiled to themselves.

_Yeah, maybe I'll start tomorrow..._

They drifted off, smiling.


	40. Tensions

_[A/N: __This is a sort of two-in one chapter. The first part is a continuation of the last, and the second is actually a drabble I wrote on tumblr that I realized fit perfectly here, in this 'verse. I have written a lot of drabbles on tumblr. Most of them are ridiculously fluffy married!Klaine or established!Klaine, with some variation. There are some weird ones. Some may appear here eventually, who knows?... I am putting a link to the page that has all of my tagged drabbles on it in my profile, if you wish to check them out. I'm quite fond of some of them._

_The Whitman poetry in the chapter is from _Song of Myself_, and the journal entry Blaine quotes, and the story he tells, is thought by scholars to be based in fact, although, of course, nothing is certain. But evidence points to this._

_Anyway, enough talking. Chapter.]_

* * *

The first thing Kurt registered was that everything smelt good. It smelt like popcorn and shampoo – not the one he used, the other one, the better one. The one he would always associate with warm smiles and – was that someone's breathing he could feel under his hand? And why wasn't his arm moving?

He opened his eyes to find his face almost buried in a mess of dark curls, and felt his entire body tense.

_Blaine._

It was Blaine.

Well, he'd known it was Blaine, because he'd been all happy and snuggly, and that shampoo was Blaine's, he'd know it anywhere, but evidence was mounting to suggest that he had his arms around_ actual_ Blaine, not _dream_ Blaine, that they were cuddling on _Blaine's bed_, that those were _Blaine's legs_ semi-tangled with his, and that was _Blaine's back_ pressed partially up against his chest.

Then he looked at the alarm clock on the desk, which read 7:15am in mocking numbers, Blaine's ipod lying next to it uselessly.

_Shit._

He had to wake Blaine up, he knew he had a test first thing this morning. But ideally Kurt should not be wrapped around him when he did wake up. So. Stealthy. Quick, and stealthy, and not noticing how nice it felt when he moved his hand across his roommate's stomach to try and detangle their arms. He had such a nice stomach. Not as nice as his eyes though. Or his smile. Or his laugh. Or -

_Class. Right._

He managed to get his ankle unhooked from between Blaine's calves fairly easily, with minimal adorable mewing on Blaine's part, but he couldn't deny the shiver that ran through him when his bare toes came into contact with his roommate's ankle – a little brush just where the cuff of his pajama pants rode up. He felt Blaine mumble something contentedly as he burrowed his head further into the pillow, his breathing gentle against Kurt's hands, and had the urge to just stop the madness and stay there, in this other, different, better kind of madness, warm, and safe, with his arms around Blaine, forever.

Sadly, that was, he decided, a bad idea. His slipped his leg back, but couldn't get his arms completely untangled, so this would have to do. So they'd been cuddling in something that might be described as a somewhat spoon-like position. And so what if Kurt's body was kind of wondering why that had stopped, and he had to take deep, calm breaths for a few moments?

"Blaine!"

A mumble.

"Blaine!"

"Mmmmf... Kurt."

"Blaine, you have to wake up."

Blaine tightened Kurt's arms around him. "Don't wanna. Nice dream. 'sides, alarm didn't go off."

"Blaine, you are going to miss your test if you don't wake up right now." Kurt used his proximity to poke him in the stomach. Blaine groaned, and tilted his head to look around.

"Huh? Test? What time is -" He suddenly seemed to notice that Kurt was right behind him, and that his arms were around him. He looked down at his stomach, where his own arms were still pinning Kurt's. "Kurt?"

"You need to wake up, Blaine. It's after seven."

"Yeah..." He blinked.

"I guess we fell asleep."

"Yeah." More blinking.

"You need to change your clothes."

"Uh-huh."

"Blaine, I need you to let go of my arms."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay."

He did, then shifted off the bed, glancing back nervously.

"I – I'm sorry, I guess I was – you were just so warm, and I must have..."

"It's not your fault. I fell asleep too."

"I guess we were tired."

Kurt looked anywhere but into his roommate's eyes. "Yeah."

There was a pause, and Blaine scratched his head distractedly. "I guess I should go get ready. You should too."

"I have a free period. I'll go get you some coffee."

He smiled as he walked over to grab some fresh clothes. "That would be so cool of you."

"It's not a big deal."

He hesitated as he pulled out a white button down. "Kurt..."

"Yeah?"

"Are we okay?"

Kurt frowned. Had he done something wrong? Aside from the whole falling in love with his roommate thing?

"I mean, " Blaine clarified, "with this..." he gestured to the bed with one hand.

Kurt bit his lip. "Sure, why wouldn't I be? We just fell asleep, right?"

Blaine smiled half-heartedly. "Yeah."

"I mean, your bed is very comfortable, and at least there isn't gel all over your pillows."

Blaine snorted. "I don't sleep in the stuff."

"You use so much of it I'm fairly certain there must be some of it still in there. You're keeping shampoo companies in business."

Blaine rolled his eyes and began to unbutton his shirt, and Kurt realized that the window was very, very interesting. "Whatever, I got to use you as a blanket, so I'm not complaining."

"I'm a very warm person," Kurt managed.

"You smell good too."

Silence. Blaine blushed.

"I mean – um..."

"I'd better go get breakfast," Kurt decided, swinging his legs off the bed. "I'll be back with coffee and toast in ten."

"Um – thanks – and... if it's not too much trouble, can I get the -"

"Wheat toast, strawberry jam. It's Tuesday. I know." Kurt made his voice much more casual than he felt as he grabbed his keys and phone (which he'd forgotten to charge – _damn!_) and headed downstairs.

A couple of minutes later he got a text. From Blaine.

"_Sorry if I was weird, I'm still kinda sleepy. Your magic blanket powers helped, though. Can I get three pieces of toast? I'll totally bring you lunch._"

Kurt took a moment to breathe. Everything was fine. Things weren't awkward. Everything would be normal.

He ran into Wes and David in line downstairs, who commented on his appearance with concern, and asked if he'd slept well.

"Of course I did," he said quickly. "Why would you ask that? What do you mean?"

They looked at him like he was crazy as he grabbed the plates and cups and headed towards the stairs.

"I think they've started to_ actually_ make each other crazy," Wes said thoughtfully as he sipped his hot chocolate.

"Started?" snorted David, stealing his chocolate milk with a grin.

Wes glared at him and stole his box of fruit loops.

* * *

Once Spring seemed to be on it's way to being officially sprung, a little early, actually, it had became a lot more difficult for Wes and David to sit still. More than usual, even, because they weren't especially calm people as a rule.

So, like parents with rambunctious children, Blaine and Kurt took them outside one Saturday in February, when it was unseasonably warm outside, to burn off some of the energy.

This was because they were driving everyone, Kurt and Blaine in particular, INSANE. They were hoping that, as it was warm outside for the first time in months, if they let them run around in the gardens for a few hours maybe they'd calm down. Some of the other Warblers heard this, and an epic ultimate frisbee tournament was planned.

Kurt decided not to take part, and settled himself under a tree with his English essay, his Walt Whitman anthology, and Blaine's guitar, which Blaine had left with him when he got sucked into the game.

He might have been annoyed that he didn't get to sit under a tree with his best friend, mocking everyone as they ran around like idiots after a plastic disc, but for the fact that, after about thirty minutes of running back and forth, Blaine, as one of those idiots, felt the need to wipe the sweat off of his forehead with the hem of his shirt? And then, fifteen minutes later, follow Nick and David's examples by taking it off?

Yeah, both those things lessened the blow somewhat.

He really did have very nice arms, Kurt reflected innocently, idly skimming _Song of Myself_. And a nice chest. And really nice abs. And those lines, the ones that lead down past the waistband of those jeans, those were very nice too. Very, very nice. It would be nice to _lick_ them-

Wait. What?

Poetry. Essay. Whitman. Right.

Kurt stopped mentally licking his roommate and went back to reading, not even sure where he'd left off. But he was determined. Blaine being half-naked was not going to distract him. Because they were _friends_. He was his best friend. And that was NOT APPROPRIATE.

He picked a random line and forced himself to focus.

"_Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,_

_Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not __even the best, __Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice._

_I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,_

_How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me,_

_And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue_

_to my bare-stript heart…_"

Hello. Well, _that_ was not helpful. Not helpful in the least. Because now Kurt was imagining himself in the grass, with Blaine next to him. Well, not so much next to as - anyway. _Stupid poet. And his stupid eroticism. And his stupid really, really fantastic imagery of tongues and_ -

"How're you doing? Bored?"

Kurt looked up to find Blaine. Very out-of-breath Blaine, who was gulping down a bottle of water like it was going out of style. And he was still shirtless. Which was nice. _No, not nice. Not nice. Just… interesting. No. Not that either. Abort, abort. He's waiting for you to answer! What was the question?_

"Um, no. Just… you know, Whitman." He waved the book vaguely.

"Oh, yeah. He's one of my favorites." Blaine reached for his shirt and tugged it over his damp hair, much to Kurt's dismay. "I wrote a killer paper about homo-eroticism in his work for Robins' class."

"Whitman was gay?"

Blaine just looked at him. "Did you read his poetry?"

"I'm working on it," he said defensively. _Maybe if some people weren't so naked and distracting_…

"Well, you'll see. You'll probably read some of his journals, too. They're heart breaking." He flopped down on the grass as Wes yelled that David had committed a foul, and called him something that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap if his mother were present.

"Why?"

Blaine shrugged. "My dad teaches a whole class on him. He'd tell you better… but, I remember, for example, there's this whole section where he's talking about his good friend, this guy Peter Doyle, who he has strong feelings for. And he's swearing that he'll stop - he writes it in capital letters, too, saying it's useless. It says 'she', but they worked out that the 'he' had been written over. It's…" he trailed off.

"What?"

He blushed. "I'm being pretentious, about to quote things at you. I'm sorry."

"No, tell me. Maybe I can use it in my paper. What did it say?"

He hesitated, then closed his eyes. "'_To give up absolutely, and for good, and from the present hour, this feverish, fluctuating useless, undignified pursuit of 16.4'_ - that was his code - '_too long (much too long) persevered in, - so humiliating - It must come at last and it had better come now (It cannot possibly be a success)._'" He took a deep breath. "'_Let there from this hour be no faltering, no getting at all henceforth (not once, under any circumstances) - avoid seeing her_' - originally him - _'or meeting her, or any talk or explanations - or any meeting whatever, from this hour forth, for life._'"

They looked at each other for a moment. "Do you think it worked?" Kurt asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I don't know," Blaine glanced at him, then away. "I doubt it."

There was a pause.

"I can't believe you can quote that."

"It kind of... resonates."

"Yeah."

"Most of it was in capital letters, too. I probably still have the copies of it, if you want."

"I'd like that." Another pause. "Blaine -"

"Kurt! Will you please inform David that I am no longer speaking to him?" Wes stalked over and planted himself under the tree.

Blaine and Kurt broke eye contact as David joined them.

"Please tell Wes that if he doesn't stop whining I won't let him borrow my car the next time his dies and he's late to meet Jo."

"Please tell David that -"

"Shut up, both of you," Blaine said tiredly. "Go run around some more."

"We are not children, Blaine," Wes snapped. He saw Nick wander over to his backpack and take something out. "Oooh, are those gummy bears?"

And he was off.

Blaine picked up his guitar and started strumming. Kurt caught his eye and smiled. When Blaine smiled back, and Kurt turned back to his book, he suddenly thought that maybe he might understand and appreciate Whitman a lot more than he'd thought.


	41. Connections

_[A/N: In answer to your unspoken question: yes, I am still flailing._

_Also, I have now written an insane number of tumblr-prompted drabbles, and have no intention of stopping for as long as people will tolerate them. They are still linked in my profile. Not sure if I should bring them over or not... (warning: most of them (but not all) are gratuitously fluffy future!Klaine with kluddles and such).]_

* * *

Under the "Blaine Hamilton FAQ" in Kurt's Wes/David-written guide to Dalton, there was a paragraph about how they'd all met. It was accurate, but brief.

This is the story that Wes and David didn't include.

This is the story that Blaine told Kurt one night, when they couldn't sleep, and he wanted to tell him something, something to make him understand how important he was, how important Wes and David were, how important Dalton was, to Blaine...

* * *

"Oh, David, he's adorable. Can we keep him?"

The small boy looked up from his schedule, which he'd been staring at with a kind of miserable, lost desperation, to find two boys, also in uniform, who were studying him from their positions leaning casually against the bottom of the staircase. The boy who had spoken was looking at him fondly, and the other quickly addressed the new boy.

"Sorry about him. He hasn't taken his normalcy medication tod – well, ever." He shrugged and his friend elbowed him.

"We met you outside earlier, right? With your dad? Blaine, isn't it?"

The boy nodded slowly. "Blaine Anders – Blaine Hamilton."

"You sure about that," one of them smiled.

"Yes." It was hesitant, but a little defiant, which both boys noticed. The louder of the two stepped forward.

"I'm Wes, and this is David, my idiot sidekick."

His idiot sidekick kicked him in the shin. "Stop scaring the new kid. If you want to adopt him then you need to pretend to be normal."

Wes turned to the small boy with an attempt at normalcy. "How's your first day going?"

"Fine, thanks," he mumbled, holding his bag to his chest.

"Been to any classes other than English? You're good at analysis. I hate Shakespeare, but you're funny. Sarcastic." Wes grinned and gestured to himself and his friend. "We were impressed."

He almost smiled. "Thanks, I guess. I read a lot." His voice got quiet and he didn't meet their eyes. "And no, that's the only class I – I just got my schedule before English."

"Oooh, gimme!" Wes grabbed for the paper, not noticing the small flinch. "Hey, we're in Palmer's next, too! And David's in music after that... I already had it. But I'll see you in history. Who are you rooming with? Are you a boarder?"

Blaine seemed slightly overwhelmed in the face of such energy. "I... I have a single."

Their jaws dropped open. "A mid-term transfer with a single room? That's two things that never happen..."

David smiled down at him. "You must be special." He nodded. "Wes, we'll keep him. Come on, let's go, or you'll be late to your first lecture on the evils of chewing gum."

He raised his hand to clap him on the shoulder, and was visibly shocked when Blaine instinctively stepped back, flinching again.

A moment later he seemed embarrassed. "I'm... sorry, I just...I think I forgot something in the office. I'll... I'll see you guys in class. I can find it. Thanks." He hurried off.

Wes and David exchanged a look.

David sighed. "Why do we always get attached to the complicated ones?"

* * *

"Psst! Blaine. Blaine! Psst. Hamilton!"

He adjusted his glasses and turned around to find a note being shoved in his face.

Three rows behind him Wes and David were grinning manically. He sighed, steeled himself, and opened the note. They knew. They could tell. People could always tell.

"_New kid – We have decided to keep you. You are fluffy and amusing (or would be if you didn't use so much gel). You are invited to a super secret movie night in our room at 8. We have practice before. __-W&D_

_P.S. It is not actually super secret. But it sounds cooler that way._"

His mouth opened and he turned around. They had become occupied dueling with their mechanical pencils.

Blaine smiled a little bit. It was his first real smile since his father had left that morning.

* * *

He spent the afternoon doing homework and trying to make his single room feel a little more like home. He unpacked his clothes first, the crisp white shirts forming a stark row until he shoved jeans and t-shirts in there to break the monotony, carefully folding his favorite sweaters. He put up a couple of posters, considering carefully the best places for them, but left his Wicked poster - signed by the Broadway Cast – rolled up in his suitcase with the collection of playbills he'd hesitated to bring. Books were next. He'd tried to limit himself to ten, but but that number had creeped up, and he left most of his favorites on the bed to sort through later. He was reading both a biography of Bob Fosse and Joyce's _Ulysses _(he was not a fan) – he placed both on his bedside table. Then he turned back and smiled to himself as he unzipped his guitar case.

Sitting down on the bed, he tuned it quickly, flipping through the sheet music he'd wondered about bringing, the notebooks of lyrics, phrases and chords of his own.

He played quietly for a while, singing occasionally, his door slightly open, not noticing the minutes tick by. As the clock read 8:24 he was softly playing _Reflection_ and, as he finished, he heard a voice from the doorway.

"Dude, you have got to be fucking kidding me."

He looked up, dropping his guitar onto the bed like it was on fire as he saw Wes and David staring at him, openmouthed. He cursed himself for forgetting to shut the door.

"I'm sorry, was I too lou – oh, it's eight-thirty, I'm so sorry, I was just -"

"Singing?" David suggested. Wes was not yet capable of speech.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, preparing for derision. Zero-tolerance only went so far, he figured. "I was just -"

"Really, really awesome." Wes had regained his voice. "What was that song before the Mulan, it was... well, awesome."

Blaine flushed, surprised. "Well, it's... I call it Human."

"You _wrote_ that?" he practically squeaked.

"Yeah, I mean, it isn't done..."

"You're auditioning, right?"

"Auditioning? For what?"

"For the Warblers. Blaine whatever-your-middle-name-is Hamilton – Hey, what is your middle name?"

"What are the Warblers?"

"Our glee club."

Wes and David saw him smile for the first time. "But... you're... you guys are _cool_. You guys are in glee club? You sing?"

David frowned. "Well, I sing. Wes sings and plots to take over."

"Hey, I'm just saying, Jeremy abuses his power. I should have that gavel."

"You are so obsessed with that gavel..."

"I would be a great -"

"Anyway, Blaine, you should join. You have a ridiculously great voice, and we need tenors to compensate for our Bass section's inability to remember -"

"If they'd just let me -"

"Shut up, Wes."

"You shut up!"

"Umm... when's the next rehearsal?" Blaine interjected meekly.

They stopped bickering to grin at him .

"We'll talk to the council tomorrow," David promised. "This is gonna be awesome."

Blaine offered a hesitant smile in return.

"Blaine," Wes asked with typical tact, "why do you only talk in English class?"

He flushed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. I'm just curious. You're smart, and sarcastic, and you correct the teacher under your breath while smiling in a disarming manner. But then you go all quiet and mysterious. Are you a wizard? Is that why? Or do you have the ring? You could, I suppose." He seemed excited by these prospects. "Frodo, can I see the ring?"

Blaine looked at him like he was mentally unstable. "Didn't you say something about a movie?"

"Oh yeah. Let's go. And audition with that."

He didn't look sure, but followed them from the room, stepping carefully around the Bob Fosse biography he'd tried to shove under his bed when they came in.

* * *

"Hamlet was a jerk."

Blaine looked up from his notebook and blinked. "I would pad that out a bit if you're thinking of making it your thesis."

The three of them were sitting in Wes and David's room, a week after Blaine had transferred, and he had been dragged from the choir room, ostensibly to write the english paper that was due the following week. But while Blaine and David were discussing and focusing on their papers (Blaine was helping David expand his thesis, and David had promised to go over Blaine's French vocabulary list with him in return, because Blaine claimed that French was his kryptonite), Wes was alternately writing a few words, whining, and throwing things at David's head (he'd gone for Blaine once too, but had stopped immediately when he saw the brief look of panic on the boy's face).

"I'm bored. Can we take a break?"

An eyebrow went up. "You haven't done anything to earn a break."

"But I want to watch Harry Potter. Can we watch Harry Potter?"

Blaine's head came up, but David spoke.

"You only want to watch it again because you have a crush on Emma Watson."

"She's really pretty! Blaine, come on, back me up on this. David only likes redheads, because he is a crazy person."

Blaine opened his mouth, then closed it again. He spoke a moment later. "She's pretty."

"See?" Wes gloated. "Pretty _gorgeous_."

David wasn't paying attention. He was watching Blaine's eyes dart towards the door as he gripped his pencil tightly. "Hey, you okay, man?"

He started. "Yeah. I'm just... it's..." he touched his shoulder briefly, then seemed to decide something. He closed his notebook and picked up his books. "I have to – I have to tell you guys something. Because you're really cool, and I'd like to be friends with you, but..."

Wes seemed hurt. "But what? You don't like us? Are we too clingy? David, I told you we were being too clingy! He doesn't like us."

"No – no, it's not you, it's..." he got out of the chair. "You won't want to...I..." He looked at them and set his jaw, exhaling. "I'm gay."

There was silence for a few moments. Wes blinked.

David asked calmly. "Are you also a serial killer?"

Blaine was confused. "No..."

"Then cool. What's the problem? I'm tired of Shakespeare. Let's watch Harry Potter."

Blaine blinked some more. "Are you s-"

David looked at him. "I don't know what happened to you to make you think we'd care, but I'm telling you right now that we don't."

He looked from David to Wes, who was studying him in an unsettling manner.

"Blaine," Wes decided, as his roommate got out the movie, "I am going to use this newfound knowledge to settle a longstanding and important debate."

He looked uncomfortable. "What?"

"Who's hotter, David or me?"

He snorted disbelievingly, then actually started to laugh.

Wes and David exchanged a smile of triumph.

* * *

It took time. There would still be moments when Wes or David would see him flinch away from a perceived threat, or get defend himself needlessly against something he misunderstood as an insult. Sometimes he'd withdraw back into himself, into his room, or into the choir room. And it was a very long time before he felt like he was able to talk about his sexuality, talk about guys, and be safe. But, little by little, he got there. He never forgot, though. And that's part of the reason why, when he saw the hurt in Kurt's eyes when they were sitting around that table, coffee in hand, when he knew that something was deeply wrong, possibly even _more wrong_ than it had been with him, he had to say something. He couldn't let the four of them sit there and pretend that everything was okay. Not when he knew that look so well, and not when those eyes were filling with tears at the mere_ idea_ of somewhere safe.

And when Kurt heard that story, sitting with Blaine on his bed, both of them in pajamas, eating their way through the batch of cookies Kurt had made at home last time he visited, a lot made sense. Wes, David, Blaine, and the way they took care of each other. The way they took care of_ him_. The way he'd been accepted, instantly and unquestioningly, into the group. The way Blaine _understood_.

Because Blaine's story wasn't the same, by any means, and Kurt had known some of it before, had been able to piece together bits and pieces of what his best friend had gone through... but what had brought them together in the first place was the recognition of something deeper than just shared circumstance. An understanding.

And as they sat there, seeing, learning, and getting to know each other just a little bit better, late at night, telling their stories... they were able to delight in the fact that those circumstances, however unpleasant, had brought them to this point, this place, where they were making stories of their own.


	42. Distractions

_[A/N: Today was a very good day to be a fan. In appreciation of this..._

_You have my tumblr followers to thank, as I promised them that if they found me a certain link then I would upload._

_And, despite popular belief, this story had not been abandoned, and all the characters had not been eaten by snake monsters. Not sure where that rumor started. It definitely wasn't on my tumblr. Not at all. In the least..._

_But we survived the hiatus, and we have been rewarded. And we will be rewarded further next week. And if you haven't heard the songs... oh, are we in for a treat._

_And, finally, I want to address something. I have been getting lots of lovely reviews, and I am going to respond to as many of them (especially the more lengthly ones) as I can. I've also gotten some reviews talking about pacing, both in support of what I believe is now officially "glacial pace," and against it. I hear you, I do, but I really, really need you to trust me with this. I'm hoping you'll think it is worth it. And if you don't, I won't be offended if you decide to move on._

_I appreciate you all. I really do.]_

* * *

Kurt had a problem.

Blaine spoke Italian.

He had first discovered this when a group of Warblers decided to go out to dinner, shortly after Kurt had transferred, and Thad picked a small, family-run Italian restaurant in Westerville.

Kurt had ordered linguini, and the owner (who was taking their orders) had turned to Blaine, who had requested a glass of milk with his complicated pasta dish, as well as asking if the painting on the wall was an original, because he'd love to find a print for his mother, who_loved_ Venice.

Of course, Kurt found this out later, when Blaine translated for him.

Because he had said it in what appeared to Kurt to be flawless Italian.

The owner was delighted, David and Nick were particularly appreciative of the free garlic bread it got them, and every time the smiling proprietor came to check on them he struck up a conversation. Blaine explained to Kurt that both his parents had spoken a little, Hal because he had wanted to read several authors in the original, Bev because she had studied it in college, and so Blaine had spent the summer before his freshman year in Florence.

Kurt had just stared at him for a minute.

"What?" Blaine blinked. "Do I have sauce on my face or something?"

"No...that's just awesome, that you... Italy..."

He shrugged, smiling. "I was lucky... I'd really like to go back someday."

Even only having known Blaine for such a short time, Kurt nearly said "Yeah, let's go."

Instead he smiled back, said "I'd probably love it," and took a delicate bite of bread.

* * *

"You just told me I would make an excellent grapefruit."

Kurt loved French because he was good at it.

Blaine hated it, because he was inexplicably terrible.

It became a regular tactic of Blaine's to try and distract Kurt from forcing him to conjugate verbs in the conditional by offering interesting Italian words as a diversion. This tactic had stopped being as effective by February, but he still made very valiant attempts.

"Did you know that -"

"Unless that sentence ends with the present conditional conjugation of manger for nous, vous, and ils, now is _not_ the time," Kurt said firmly from his position folded up at the bottom of Blaine's bed.

"But, in Italian -"

"You don't have to take a test tomorrow in Italian."

Kurt pointed to the book. Blaine flipped the page moodily, yanking his hand away with a cry.

"War wound?" Kurt asked.

"French bit me!" Blaine whined. "I'm probably going to die..."

Kurt seemed unconcerned. "You shouldn't have been sulking. It's your own fault."

"It hurts!"

Kurt sighed and leaned forward to look at his finger which was being held out to him. "Suck on it," he advised authoritatively.

"Should we come back later?"

"Hush, Wesley. Progress!"

Both heads turned to see Wes and David standing by the door, delighted looks on their faces.

"Don't let us interrupt." David waved his hand. "Please continue with the sucking... and any other activities towards which you feel inclined."

Blaine flushed first, but Kurt was right behind him. "What do you two want?"

"Do we need a reason to visit?" Wes looked offended. "Can't we just -"

"Wes," David reminded him. "The music?"

"Oh, yeah." Wes walked over to the bed and threw down a folder. "Here's the new arrangement – it's only changed at the end, but... anyway, we were just going to get dinner. Are you coming, or are you busy here, because if you want, we can br-"

"We'll be down in a few minutes," Blaine said. "Go away now."

"No, really, we didn't mean to interrupt any -"

Blaine muttered something in Italian that Kurt guessed would not be found in most phrase books.

David pulled Wes towards the door. "Come on, there's pizza tonight, and if we don't get there all the good toppings will be gone."

Wes' eyes lit up. "Later, guys."

They ran off, and Blaine turned to open his mouth again, but Kurt very firmly cut him off, pretending very studiously that hearing Blaine (presumably) curse in Italian was not in the least distracting. "Manger in the present conditional. Nous. Go."

"But... nous mangerions, vous mangeriez, ils ou elles mangeraient..."


	43. Glimmers

_[A/N: The poems/text quoted do not belong to me. They belong to the author's referenced in text. More on this at the end.__Enjoy.]_

* * *

"This is kind of ironic."

Blaine glanced up from his laptop, bleary-eyed, and glared at his three best friends, placing special emphasis on Kurt, who has spoken. Then he went back to the screen.

"Shouldn't at least two of you be in your own room?"

Wes shrugged. "We finished our homework, so we thought we'd visit."

"This really _is _ironic," David offered.

"Shut up," commanded Blaine, clicking frantically.

* * *

Ever senior took English with Dr. Martin, the head of the department. Each year he took a day of class and asked his students to bring in their favorite love poem – they would start the poetry unit with a reading, then, in the following weeks, discuss what made the poems resonate. He paired with the theatre teacher to make it an event, as she was often studying meter and verse with her classes at the same time. Kurt had drama class at the same time that Wes, David and Blaine had English, so he was required to attend.

Wes, after much complaining (and an ill-fated attempt to classify Freddie Mercury as a romantic poet) had chosen a poem, David had borrowed one of Blaine's anthologies and selected a sonnet.

One might expect Blaine to be quite good at something like this.

One would be incorrect.

Blaine had been determined, as the son of an english professor, to do something unexpected. He had been insisting on this for weeks, since the assignment had been given, trying to find something he could connect to.

The reading was now the next day, and he was freaking out a bit. He had been looking for days.

"You could ask your dad," Wes suggested from Kurt's bed, which he and David had taken over by 4pm that afternoon.

Blaine glared at him again. "I don't _want_ to call my dad. I should be able to find something fresh, that I like, by myself."

David spoke up. "I still don't understand why you don't just pick Shelley or something and be done with it. You know them all..."

"Because," Blaine repeated for the thousandth time, with no less irritation, "I don't want to read a poem I heard for the first time when I was five, when I didn't really care to understand what any of it meant. I want to find something I feel about now. Something real."

"Well," Kurt commented from Blaine's bed, which he had retreated to as Wes and David had spread out, "you have fifteen hours, give or take. Are you sure you don't want help?"

"No," he groaned, "I have to find it."

"Search love poems on google," Wes suggested.

Kurt snorted. "Stay classy, Wesley." He looked over at blaine who was typing desperately. "Oh my god, you are actually - Blaine, I can see three poetry anthologies on your bookshelf just from where I'm sitting. You love Rossetti... do one of his?"

Blaine pursed his lips. "None of it's right..."

"Why are you freaking out so much about this?"

He fidgeted. "I just... want to pick something unexpected. I feel like everyone is expecting me to pick something... I don't know..."

Kurt's face softened, but before he could speak Wes cut in.

"Well, better get hunting then. Kurt, did you find those notes from french?"

He dragged his eyes away from his roommate, who turned resignedly back to his computer. "Yeah they're in my binder. It's..." he looked around. "Oh, I must have left it in the commons. I'll just..." he started to get up, and Wes and David copied him. "You gonna be okay here?"

Blaine looked up briefly. "I'm fine."

"Okay... text me if you need anything."

He nodded, and Wes and David made their way to the door. Kurt paused.

"If you want something fresh, maybe you should look up something more recent – I know Artie had looked up some slam poetry for class once... it was pretty interesting. No one would have heard it, probably."

He smiled tiredly. "Hey...thanks. I might do that."

Kurt smirked. "Can't wait to hear what you choose." In a moment of extreme bravery he winked, and Blaine seemed torn between a blush, a smile, and a soft exhale. He stared at the empty doorway for a moment, then went back to the task at hand.

* * *

It was a few hours later when Kurt made his way back to the dorms, having been talked into proofreading first Wes' french essay, then David's (which took far less time), then having David help him with his math homework. Ordinarily he'd ask Blaine, but he just seemed so tired...

Surely enough, he opened the door to find his roommate lying on his bed on top of his notebook, his laptop open in front of him and his phone in his hand. This explained why their text conversation had come to an abrupt halt. Kurt closed the computer, plugged it into the charger, moved the notebook onto the desk, and made sure the phone was also charging. Blaine stirred as it beeped.

"Hey," he smiled after emitting what Kurt deemed the most adorable mewing sound ever to exist. "What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty. You're tired. Go back to sleep."

"No, I have to -"

"Did you find a poem?"

He smiled again. "Yeah..."

"Then go to sleep."

" 'Kay." He snuggled into his pillow. " 'night, Kurt."

He put his bag down and loosen his tie, turning on his bedside lamp. " 'night. Hey, Blaine..."

"Mmm?"

"What did you pick?"

"Love poem... eyelashes... not a poet..." he mumbled. "You'll hear it. I'll read it for you."

" 'kay. Sorry. Just curious. I know I'll hear it when you read it for everyone."

He was almost totally asleep, and Kurt almost didn't catch his last words.

"...not for everyone..."

* * *

At 9 o'clock the next morning Kurt's class filed into the lecture hall that had been reserved for the presentations, and the theatre teacher shepherded them into the front few rows. Kurt caught Blaine's eye briefly and smiled. Blaine smiled nervously back, David waved cheerfully, and Wes declared his undying love in butchered iambic pentameter. Kurt stuck his tongue out at them, and Wes got scolded for being overly hyper...David seemed to be trying to calm Blaine down. Kurt forced himself to look forward – he was seated in the center of the room, several rows in front of the three of them – as the teachers stood and thanked everyone for being there...even though attendance was required. The first students came up, and Kurt settled into his chair to hear a substantial portion of the first ten pages of the google search results for 'love poem' (they were second semester seniors. Not everyone was as fussy as Blaine about their choice). A couple of people surprised him – Michael did an obscure Rossetti poem (which he only knew because Blaine, or rather, he maintained, his father, had gone through a pre-raphaelite phase... which, incidentally, was not a phrase Kurt thought he would ever have used), and Max Kerry, the quiet boy in Kurt's physics lab, announced he was reading a poem by Richard Harteis called Star Trek III, then proceeded to wipe the smirks of everyone's faces by almost bringing them to tears. Kurt tilted his head back slightly, and his eyes met Blaine's briefly on the line "Still you love me clearly/whoever I am".

As Thad read his poem Kurt kind of had trouble paying attention, except to register that there were some very good non-romantic poems being read, and David and Wes had done quite well, and _holy mother of god _Blaine was next, and Kurt _really_ wanted to know what he'd ended up choosing. He should really pay attention, shouldn't he, and Blaine looked so nervous as he walked up to the front of the room, and it was adorable.

"Hi," he smiled. "I'm Blaine, and this is a poem by Rudy Francisco, a slam poet" - he smiled as eyebrows went up all over the room - "and I chose it because it's beautiful, and perfect, and I wanted to read something that I" - his eyes flickered - "uh...felt strongly about. So... yeah. It's called 'If I Were a Love Poet'."

Kurt saw him take a deep breath, glance down at the paper in his hand, then look up.

Kurt took a calming breath of his own. It had very little effect.

After what seemed like an age, but was actually just a second, Blaine spoke, and Kurt very much wanted to believe that those eyes were on him.

He cleared his throat, and his voice was even as he surveyed the room, his eyes lingering in the center of the room occasionally. At least, Kurt hoped that wasn't just wishful thinking. And then Blaine's voice was there, and there was no more thinking.

Blaine bit his lip. Kurt could hear people whispering behind him – Peter, who was sitting next to him, was texting covertly. Kurt couldn't even imagine why anyone would look away.

_'"I'm not much of a love poet._

_But if I woke up tomorrow morning and decided I really wanted to write about love, my first poem would be about you._

_About how I love you the same way I learned how to ride a bike. Scared… but breathless._

_With no training wheels or elbow pads so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you._

_I'm not much of a love poet._

_But if I was, I'd write about how I see your face in every cloud and your reflection in every window. You see I've written a million poems hoping that somehow you'd jump out of the pages and be closer to me because if you were here - right now -_

_I'd massage your back so your skin sings songs that your lips don't even know the words to._

_Until your heartbeat sounds like my last name._

_And your smile, like the Pacific ocean, I want to drink the sunlight from your skin._

_If I was a love poet I'd write about how you have the audacity to be beautiful even on days when everything around you is ugly._

_I'd write about your eyelashes and how they are like violin strings that play symphonies every time you blink._

_If I was a love poet I'd write about how I melt in front of you like an ice sculpture every time I hear the vibration in your voice._

_So, whenever I see your name on the caller ID, my heart plays hopscotch inside of my chest and it climbs onto my ribs like monkey bars and I feel like a child all over again._

_I know this sounds strange, but every now and then, I pray to God that he turns you back into one of my ribs just so I never have to spend an entire day without you._

_And I swear I'm not a love poet. But if I was, my first poem would be about you._

_And after all of that, she was like, "So how do you feel about me?"_

_I said, "Let's put it like this: I want to be your ex-boyfriend's stunt man. I wanna do everything he never had the courage to do. Like... trust you."'_

And then there was silence. Or, at least, there was as far as Kurt was concerned. He recognized that there must have been clapping, and then the bell must have rung, because the teachers seemed to have stood and said something, and then the classes migrated towards the door.

Kurt was still sitting, blinking.

Blaine had always said so much with his eyes.

He was standing there, with his paper, leaning against the table at the front of the room, in front of the podium, looking a little overwhelmed as boys crossed in front of him to leave. Wes, David and Rich must have gone on without them, because after a minute they were alone in the abandoned room.

And they both knew that very soon they were going to have to stop pretending.

* * *

_[A/N again: To pre-empt questions: Yes, that is one of my favorite poems, no, it has not been published, as far as I know. There are performances of it, so the text is, I would assume, transcribed from those. The spacing is mine.]_

_[Edit: a performance of the poem, by the poet, can be found linked in my profile.]_


	44. Concerns

_[A/N: A video of the poet performing If I Were a Love Poet (featured in the last chapter) can be found linked in my profile. I highly recommend you check out some of his other work._

_Now, let us have some mother son time.]_

* * *

"Darling, they'll be here soon. Are you ready?"

Blaine turned away from his mirror to face his mother, fixing his sleeve unnecessarily. "I...yeah. Yeah, I'm – I'm good. I'm – why? Don't I look okay?"

"You look fine, dear," she soothed with a small smile. "I appreciate the effort, but it is just dinner. You don't _usually_ get this excited about dinner."

"I am not excited," he lied, practically buzzing as he turned back to fix his hair. "Have you seen my comb? Where's my comb? This sweater looks okay with this shirt, doesn't it?"

Beverley hurried over to pick a piece of lint off of his shoulder, which may or may not have been imagined solely as an excuse to give him a hug. "You look darling."

"I'm not trying to look _darling_," he insisted. "I want to look..."

"Dashing?"

He blushed, but didn't respond.

"Isn't that the sweater you were wearing when you got here? The one you got for christmas?"

"It's clean. Do you think a tie would be too much? It would. Maybe I should change."

"Haven't you met Kurt's family before, dear?" She had a soothing hand on his arm.

"Yes, but … now they're coming here," he shrugged. "For dinner," he elaborated. His eyes widened. "What if they didn't like me?"

"Why on earth wouldn't they like you, dear? Besides, you said you got on splendidly."

He pulled away and went to pick up his phone. "I hope they don't get lost. Do you think they'll get lost?"

"Kurt has driven here before, darling."

"Yes, but I was with him, or gave him directions." He started walking around the room, holding his phone up. "I only have three bars, if he tried to call me and my reception dropped..."

"It would be the first time, and he'd call the house." When her son showed no signs of slowing down she sighed. "Blaine..."

"Hmm?" He kept fidgeting. "Maybe I should text him."

"Blaine."

"Yes?" He still didn't look over. She grabbled his sleeve and pulled him in, sitting him down firmly on his bed. "You need to sit down before you work yourself into a frenzy. Your friend and his family will get here when they get here, and everyone will be charming, and your father will be eccentric, and maybe I will too. It will all be _fine_."

He looked at her for a moment. "I'm... I'm nervous."

"I don't see why you should be. They're just coming for dinner because they happen to be driving past here on their way to –" She saw his attention wandering. "Kurt will stay, so you can drive you both back to school tomorrow... by the way, did you see the blankets? I'm not sure where you two are sleeping, but..." She saw his face. "Blaine, your father has promised to behave himself. And," she added brightly, "I made chocolate cake for dessert."

He could see their reflection in the large mirror that doubled as his closet door. His eye drifted over the lyrics scribbles in dry erase marker around the edges, or even the doodles that Wes and David had left (Wes' had been edited after the fact). His eyes flicked automatically to the lower left hand corner. The last time they'd all been at his house (the weekend Wes had spilled paint all over Kurt, resulting in the shirt incident that was the reason that Blaine hadn't quite been able to bring himself to wear that shirt again just yet) Blaine had cleaned off the mirror, and they had spent an hour redecorating, adding lyrics, notes, and, in the case of Wes and David, an intricate stick figure drawing of two people holding hands. They had been subtlety labeled 'K' and 'B'. Kurt had retaliated by drawing on Wes' face, while Blaine had accurately and artistically portrayed the scene that had unfolded the previous year, when David had gone home for the weekend, Blaine had been studying for S.A.T.s, and Wes had been discovered in the common room, knee deep in empty ice-cream cartons, where Blaine insisted to this day that he had been talking to the gavel. Blaine's drawing had been erased one the giddiness subsided, but Blaine had left the stick figure picture there.

He just kind of liked it, is all.

He liked even better the neat, measured cursive underneath it, which read _"At least your hair looks good. It seems that stick figure you knows how to use the appropriate amount of hair product. Or maybe Stick figure 'K' got sick of his hands getting stuck in it, and confiscated it all. Either way, everyone wins. Learn from your inky alter-ego. :) - Kurt (on behalf of stick-figure 'K', and the human race)_."

Underneath that David had asked whether stick figure 'K' found his hands running through stick-figure Blaine's hair very often, to which Kurt replied that he had no idea, and they should ask him themselves. He'd also blushed.

Blaine's eyes followed the message, the lyrics the four of them had contributed. David had gone 90s – Vanilla Ice and Backstreet boys, Wes had, unsurprisingly, gone Queen -We are the Champions – and All American Rejects, and while Blaine had added a line from each song that came to mind – Ricky Martin, Aerosmith, Colbie Callait, Neon Trees, and a long string of Joshua Radin - Kurt had contributed the opening lines of 'First Day of My Life', followed by an ellipse, and had then paused to consider his next choice, joking that he quite enjoyed the poetic quality of Nickleback's 'Animals'.

Blaine, who had been sitting on his bed at that point, nearly fell off as that song, and its lyrics, wormed their way into his head and refused to be dislodged. 'Animals' was not a subtly crafted song. It was not only suggestive, it was downright obscene. The guy and his girlfriend were sneaking her out of the house, and then they were driving, and she was – well, he recalled the chorus mentioning screaming, and never stopping. And at least one verse talking about flicking switches and driving into ditches. And hands. Lots of hands.

He totally had a new appreciation for that song.

It had taken significant effort to drag himself back to watching Kurt finish the lyrics to 'The Way I Was' by Maroon 5. He liked that song. They both did. A lot. He continued on a theme with 'Infatuation' and 'Little of Your Time', ending with 'Shiver'. Blaine forced himself not to read into those choices, and definitely did not listen to those songs on repeat for weeks. Definitely.

God, he loved that band.

Kurt had also added commentary to everyone else's lyrics, and Blaine fully intended to leave it, along with the intricate doodle of Pavarotti in the corner, until the ink spontaneously combusted under his gaze.

As his mother settled behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, he considered their reflections, leaning into the embrace.

"Mom..." he trailed off, then looked her in the eye.

She kissed him on the forehead. "Yes?"

"Do you think that -" he hesitated. "Do..."

"I think," she murmured," that you are a wonderful, intelligent, beautiful young man, and you have excellent taste, which, with your upbringing, was sort of a given. I think you are the best thing about your father and I, the best of both of us, and... I think you have chosen someone equally wonderful to love."

He held his breath for a few seconds. "That's what Dad said."

"You had to get your intelligence from somewhere."

"It feels like..."

She smiled slightly in understanding. "It feels like the end of the world whenever he leaves the room without kissing you goodbye."

He closed his eyes. "Yeah."

"Blaine."

He pulled away. "Yeah?"

"So kiss him goodbye."

"I... don't know if I can." He sounded scared, desperate, anything but calm.

Beverley smiled at him sadly. "Then there's nothing to be done, is there?"

The doorbell rang, and Blaine leapt up, racing to the door. He turned quickly.

"Mom, is the sweater too much?"

Bev rolled her eyes and glided towards him, taking his hand and using it to spin herself.

"Come on, darling. Let's go meet the parents."


End file.
